Tranquility
by bluespiritgal
Summary: Starsky & Hutch try to combine a little business with some R&R and wind up in a little town called Traquility. However, things are not so tranquil when they find a motor cycle gang has taken over the town. Mulitchap fic. S/H adventure, friendship, h/c.
1. Chapter 1

**This story is based off an episode from another TV series I liked to watch a long time ago which I modified to fit S&H. As always, I don't own the characters, wish I did, I'm only writing for entertainment purposes. Reviews always appreciated, and sorry for any typos still found. Hope you enjoy! **

**Tranquility**

**Chapter 1**

"As soon as we get the extradition papers processed, the sooner we can get Martinez back in the States," Captain Dobey said as he sat behind his desk.

"We'll do it Cap," Hutch volunteered, making his partner slumped in the chair next to him sit up a little straighter and throw him a look.

"The judge wants the papers by Sunday."

"Sure. Sure. No problem," Hutch said.

"Sunday?" Starsky repeated. "But Hutch, it's our weekend off…"

"It'll be fine, Cap. Trust us. We'll be happy to do it for you."

Dobey looked at the blond haired detective suspiciously. "What's this all about?"

"Yeah, what's this all about?" Starsky asked.

"Nothing. We just want to see Martinez brought back to stand trial just as much as the D.A."

"Hmmmm," Dobey said dubiously but couldn't see any legitimate point to argue against the help. Besides, it was their case. "All right, Hutchinson. You can pick up the paperwork from the D.A. in the morning and deliver it to Judge Juarez in San Carlos by Sunday. Just make sure you keep the radar low on this. We don't need Martinez jumping bail again and disappearing."

"Great!"

"Hutch…uh…"

But the tall blond detective didn't give Starsky a chance to argue as he pulled him out of the chair and hustled him out of Dobey's office.

Once back in the squad room Starsky cornered his partner near the coffee maker.

"What's this all about?"

"What do you mean?" Hutch asked innocently.

"Don't give me that. Why the hell are you volunteering us to be paperboys this weekend? It's our first weekend off in a month!"

Hutch smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Fringe benefits."

Starsky's brows rose, clueless. "What?"

"San Carlos is just across the border, Starsky."

"Yeah, and so is Tijuana."

"Yeah, but Tijuana doesn't have some of the best dirt bike trails like San Carlos."

"Dirt bikes?"

Hutch smiled, his eyes glittering.

"Aw, Hutch…I was plannin' on spending my weekend sleeping in and then waxing the Torino, givin' it a little TLC."

"Starsky, putting a coat of wax on the tomato isn't going to make it any less of an eye sore."

"Hey, don't insult my wheels!"

Hutch stood close to his partner, placing his hands on Starsky's shirt, tugging the material like a kid. "Come on, Starsk! It'll be fun! It'll give us a chance to finally break in the bikes we got at the police auction."

Since Hutch had first seen the two cross-road dirt bikes at the last police auction and had convinced Starsky to go in haves with him on them and had gotten both for a steal, he'd been itching to test them out on some open back trails.

"Come on Starsk! We _both_ could use a little fun and sun and we'll get paid too!"

He leaned in a little closer to his partner trying to cajole him with what Starsky often referred to as his "Minnesota Blond Face" – eyes slightly open, mouth turned upward into a smirky "blond" smile with his head cocked slightly to one side. It was a look Starsky always found extremely hard to ignore and Hutch knew it.

He could see the deep blue eyes starting to waver, cave in, as Starsky's lids dropped to half mast and he let out a soft grumbling sigh.

"Great, it's settled! We'll leave first thing in the morning," he said, his mouth splitting open into a wide, pleased, boyish grin as he patted his partner on the chest, not giving Starsky a chance to argue back.

"I'll get busy and finish typing up the reports for us buddy."

He turned towards their desks.

Starsky opened his mouth, then closed it, as if thinking, then shrugged as if to say who was he to argue if Hutch was _volunteering_ to type up the reports.

It wasn't until they'd stopped by the Pits for dinner later and had settled into their favorite back booth that Hutch was able to talk his plan over to his quiet partner sitting opposite to him.

It was usually Starsky who was the bouncing ball of energy and the one trying to drag Hutch off to one thing or another, but of late his friend hadn't felt like doing anything other than working and spending quiet evenings alone.

Hutch understood. After all, it had only been three months since Terry's death and Starsky still just couldn't seem to be able to shake the sadness. He knew his friend was still grieving. For a while he'd even been pretty worried about Starsky, and had done everything he could think of just to be there for him, to cheer him up.

When he'd seen the dirt bikes, he'd gotten an idea. It was something both actually liked doing and had thought about it several times before.

Growing up in Duluth, there were three things Hutch had always loved to ride: horses, dune buggies and dirt bikes. And although his partner's preference tended to lean towards a slick Harley with a powerful engine and sleek chrome, Starsky was it fact damn good on any kind of wheels, two or four, no matter the hardware.

The weekend would do them both good. Fresh air, sunshine and a couple of engines underneath them. Time to just forget about the toilet bowl they worked in for a little while. Time to hopefully see Starsky smile again.

"San Carlos," Huggy said as he joined the two detectives in the booth sometime later after he got some free time between customers. "I got a cousin that lives down that direction."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Starsky said as he sipped on his beer.

It was a well known fact Huggy came from a huge extended family, although it was often very fuzzy as to just how much true blood relationship existed within.

"Yeah. He runs a little hotel there. Married to a Mexican gal. They got eight kids last time I counted. His name's Jackson."

"What? He's got a regular name, not one named after some animal or piece of fruit?" Starsky snickered.

Huggy shrugged, taking no offense. "He was always the odd one in the family, but cool. If ya need a place to stay on the cheap, I can hook you up."

"Thanks, Hug. That would be great." Hutch replied.

The proprietor nodded. "So when ya leavin'?"

"Early in the morning," Hutch replied.

"I'll give him a call tonight then. Let him know to expect you guys."

"Thanks."

"When we're done here, we're going to swing by Starsky's uncle's place to pick up the bikes. Al agreed to store them for us."

"I'm surprised you're eatin' here then." Huggy looked at Starsky. "I'm sure if your Auntie knew you were stoppin' by, she'd have dinner for the two of you."

Starsky grimaced. "Why do you think we're eating here first?"

It was also a well known fact that Starsky's Aunt Rosie wasn't known to be the best cook, though it never dimmed her enthusiasm to try.

"I thought you had a cast iron stomach, Gordo," Hutch teased.

"How do you think I got that way in the first place?" Starsky replied. "Unless it's won tons, the best advice is eat first, visit Uncle Al and Aunt Rosie later."

Hutch couldn't argue the point, having been a guest with personal experience to Aunt Rosie's culinary lack of talent.

They paid their bill and left. A short time later Starsky pulled the Torino up in front of a single story house situated behind a four foot tall chain link fence, located in an older section of town. The neighborhood had always been a little run down, but with age it had gotten a little more so. However, for the most part, the lawns were kept up by the residents who had lived on the block for many, many years.

The small three bedroom house was where Starsky had grown up since he was thirteen.

Though Starsky seldom talked about it, Hutch knew it was a place still full of mixed memories. His Uncle Al and Aunt Rosie had treated him well but Starsky had admitted to Hutch that he'd been an angry kid and a troubled teen full of a lot of pain when his mother had shipped him off to the West Coast to live, forced to leave everything he knew behind in New York after his father was killed.

It had been a tough decision and one Starsky had understood more as he'd gotten older, but still had never quite been able to resolve. He'd told Hutch too that he'd gotten into a fair amount of trouble as a teen that his uncle had been forced to deal with, and on more than one occasion, the two had butted heads. But not once had either his aunt or uncle given up on him.

This was always something Hutch admired in Starsky's family. Coming from a more or less aseptic family that believed in raising children to be seen and not heard with a pre-determined destiny already arranged, it had taken Hutch a little time to first get used to Starsky's rather expressive family when he'd met them during their Academy days together.

The two cadets had spent their training days during the week in the dorm rooms of the Academy, but on weekends, Starsky would often drive out to visit his aunt and uncle and would drag Hutch along, particularly if he knew he was going to be staying at the Academy over the weekend rather than going home to Vanessa, his wife at the time.

Hutch seldom opened up to anyone about just how rocky his marriage had been, about how much Vanessa, like his family, hated the whole idea of him becoming a cop, viewing it as a step down in his social status or how much the possible failure in his marriage really affected him.

It was not the "Hutchinson" way to do things, airing one's dirty laundry. But somehow his curly haired room mate just had a way of reading him, then drawing him out and for the first time in his life, Hutch had someone he felt he could really confide in, understood him and trusted to keep his confidences. It had been the beginning of their friendship that had only grown deeper and uniquely closer over the years.

Starsky's uncle greeted them at the door. Al was a big burly man, as tall as Hutch but much thicker in girth and greeted both men in his usual way, one meaty hand grasping one of theirs in a hearty, somewhat crushing handshake as he pulled each one towards him, while the other came up and slapped each on the back.

Both winced.

Hutch rubbed his shoulder as Starsky grinned back at him.

They stood in the small eclectically decorated living room which to Hutch always gave off the impression of warmth. It was again a contrast from his own childhood, raised in a large house professionally decorated with rooms used only for "special" occasions.

"So where's Aunt Rosie?" Starsky asked.

"She's taking a cooking class with some of her friends over at the Community Center. She should be home in another hour with her latest creation."

"Oh…uh…well, sorry we'll miss her. We can't really stay long. We need to head out early in the morning," Starsky said, trying his best to sound apologetic.

It didn't fool his uncle for a second as Al grinned. "She's going to be sorry she missed you. As it is, you don't visit as often as she'd like anymore."

"You know how it is, Uncle Al. Hutch and I are usually up to our eyeballs with cases. Besides, all she's going to do is tell me to get my hair cut, find a nice girl to settle down with and eat my vegetables. She worries worse than Ma," Starsky complained.

"That's never going to change, boy," Al said with a laugh as he slapped his nephew on the shoulder again. Starsky winced and it was Hutch's turn to smirk.

"Come on, the bikes are out in the garage."

The two detectives followed Al around to the back of the house where the detached garage stood at the back of the lot.

The two cross-road motor bikes were neatly stored inside under a protective clear plastic covering next to an old, but pristine looking Studebaker.

Hutch gazed at the interior of the garage. It was meticulous, not a single thing without a specific niche for it to be stored. Yet, like the house, it still managed to give the appearance of warmth in the well worn workbenches, stained from use, the posters on the walls of various cars, the display shelves that housed a collection of model train cars, engines and cabooses.

In the corner of the garage there was even a TV set along with a worn leather recliner. On top of the TV set, Hutch noticed three small framed pictures. One was clearly Starsky as a teen casually leaning against the bumper of a car, arms crossed, smiling widely, wearing a leather jacket. Hutch grinned. The other was a picture of Starsky's aunt and uncle and a teen Hutch didn't recognize, but probably guessed was Al and Rosie's only son. Starsky had once told him his cousin had been killed years ago in an auto accident. He had been their only child. The last was a young police officer in a uniform that strongly resembled Starsky. It was clearly a picture of Starsky's father.

Despite himself, Starsky lingered on the last photo. Al came over to his side, as if reading his thoughts. "He was a good man, your father."

"I know."

Starsky turned abruptly away as if he didn't want to revisit that pain. Hutch understood. Starsky was already hurting enough right now trying to come to terms with Terry's death.

Al uncovered the dirt bikes beneath the clear plastic tarp.

"They're all tuned up, gassed up and ready to go."

From a shelf in the garage, Al retrieved two helmets and handed them to the two detectives.

"Thanks, Al," Starsky said.

"Yeah, thanks," Hutch also said, then added. "And thanks for letting us store the bikes here."

"No problem. Always room." Al then addressed his nephew. "Why don't you pull your car into the driveway? You can leave it here until you get back."

"Thanks, Al."

After pulling the bikes out onto the street, Starsky drove the Torino up the driveway and behind the chain link gate.

Prior to coming over, they had already stopped by Starsky's place and had collected the few essentials needed for the weekend, stuffing them inside a knapsack. Starsky took the knapsack out of his car and strapped it onto the back of the bike.

Before he hopped on the motor bike, Al pulled Starsky into a brief bear hug and slapped him on the back again. "Take care, boy."

Starsky grinned. "Yes, sir."

The curly haired detective climbed on the bike, settling the helmet over his head.

"And you be sure to make time for your aunt when you come back."

Starsky rolled his eyes, but grinned as he brought the engine to life.

Hutch smiled, doing the same.

Al waved them both off as they disappeared down the street.

They didn't go straight back to Hutch's place right away, but instead took their time, both enjoying the feel of the two wheels under their legs. Eventually they parked the bikes in front of Venice Place, having already decided Starsky would camp out on Hutch's couch so they could get an early start in the morning, pick up the paperwork from the D.A. and head out of town.

Hutch shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it up and removing the holstered magnum as well. He grabbed a couple of beers out of the fridge, handing one to Starsky as he headed for his bedroom alcove. "I'm gonna hop in the shower."

"Mind if I use your phone?" Starsky asked. "It's Friday."

Hutch shook his head. "Nah, go ahead."

He left his partner to make his usual Friday night phone call back East, a ritual Starsky had done since, well since as long as Hutch could remember.

Hutch turned on the shower, letting the water run as he sipped on his beer and rooted around for something to put on afterwards. He then stripped and went back into the bathroom, grabbed his toothbrush, slapped some tooth paste it and scrubbed his teeth until steam fogged up the mirror.

Adjusting the temperature down just a bit, he hopped into the steaming shower savoring the sting of the hot water against his back.

For a while he just stood under the spray letting it hit his skin and run down his back loosening up the tight, often kinked muscles before grabbing the bar of soap and scrubbing himself down. He washed his hair last and twenty minutes later he was briskly drying himself off, his skin pink and glowing, feeling clean and refreshed.

He pulled on a pair of sweats and an old T-shirt and, still toweling his wet hair, wandered back into kitchen with his half empty beer to find his partner leaning against the counter, ankles crossed, still talking on the phone.

He smirked as Starsky rolled his eyes as he held the receiver to his ear. "Yeah, yeah, Ma. I get it." He glanced up at Hutch. "Look, I gotta go. Hutch needs the phone. Yeah, okay, yeah…I'll tell him. _Goodnight_ Ma. I know. Luv ya too."

Starsky hung up, shaking his head slightly before taking a swig of beer.

"Ma says hi," his partner informed him. "Says she got the pictures I sent. Says you need a haircut."

Hutch pointed a finger at his chest. "_I _need a haircut?" He tugged at his fine hair. It wasn't _that_ long, barely passed his collar.

Starsky grinned. "We'll, it's always a given thing with me. She thinks I'm influencing you too much."

"That right?"

Hutch got a grunt for a reply.

"So how's your mom doing anyway?"

"Okay, I guess. Nicky's still giving her some trouble. Same old crap. He's lucky I'm not there!" Starsky groused.

Hutch didn't say much. He knew it aggravated Starsky that his younger brother still managed to get into trouble, trouble that worried his mom, but living on the opposite coast made it difficult for Starsky to make Nicky tow the line.

"If you left me any hot water, Blintz, think I'll hop in the shower myself," Starsky said.

"Sure, go ahead," Hutch replied, reaching over to fill a watering can up he kept next to the sink.

Starsky disappeared. A short while later Hutch could hear the deep baritone voice singing in the shower.

Shaking his head, Hutch wandered out to the greenhouse and started watering his many plants knowing they would be gone for a few days.

He soon got into his routine, enjoying fussing and examining each one.

At some point the shower went off and he heard Starsky calling from the bedroom. "Hey, Hutch, where's my blue sweats?"

"How would I know?" Hutch yelled back as he made his way into the living room to start on the potted plants scattered about.

"Because you borrowed them last, remember?"

"I did? Oh, yeah…um….I think they're in the bottom of my closet."

"Your closet?"

Hutch heard rummaging as he went back into the kitchen and refilled the watering can.

"They're not here."

"Um…Look under my gym bag," Hutch called returning to the living room and examining his fichus sitting in the corner.

"Your gym bag! Terrific!" He could hear his partner grumbling. "I hope ya at least washed them!"

More rummaging.

"Hey, I wondered where that shirt went!"

Hutch grinned, before becoming engrossed in his philodendron.

A few minutes later Starsky came out wearing said blue sweat pants hanging low on his lean hips and nothing else except for the towel draped over his shoulders, holding up a wadded piece of material covered in dust.

"I think those dust bunnies in the back of your closet are alive, pal. You think next time you borrow one of my shirts, ya can a least wash the stain before it sets?"

"Sorry."

His partner grumbled before depositing the shirt in the laundry basket.

Starsky then grabbed a second beer and plopped down on the couch and flipped through the channels until he found an old movie that drew his interest while Hutch continued to engross himself in his many plants.

Starsky would occasionally grin or shake his head as he went back and forth between the greenhouse and the living room, examining each potted plant, talking to a few of them, frowning when he found a couple of bugs on one or some dried leaves on another. It was a routine he got easily lost in humming to himself as he drank his beer. It was also an activity he could easily do without feeling the least self-conscious in the presence of his partner.

To Hutch his plants were the equivalent to Starsky and the Torino. Each never quite understood the passion the other had towards their "babies" but accepted it nonetheless.

Once done with his task nearly an hour later, Hutch decided to join Starsky who was currently lazily stretched full length out on the couch.

"Mind making some room for me, Gordo?"

Starsky yawned, shifted and allowed Hutch to sit down, only to find a few minutes later his partner's bare ankles crossed and resting on his lap.

"What am I, a footstool?" Hutch asked.

"I can't help it if ya decided to plop your ass down on my bed." He shifted, grimacing. "Uncomfortable as it is. When are you going to invest in a decent couch?"

"About the same time you do, buddy."

"My couch is _not_ as bad is this one."

"Yeah, tell that to my back the next time I sleep over your place. My feet hang over the edge too."

Starsky grinned, taking a swig of his beer. "It's not designed for big blond Minnesota pine trees. More for snuggling up with a soft chick."

Starsky suddenly became quiet and Hutch looked over at his friend, guessing where his train of thoughts had wandered back to.

His partner let out a long sigh. "I still miss her, Hutch. Miss the feel of her, smell of her, how she just seemed ta fit so perfectly next ta me."

Hutch placed his hand on Starsky's bare ankle, rubbing it gently. "I know, buddy. I know."

That sat quietly together.

"Do ya think it'll ever get better, Hutch, the pain?" Starsky asked a little later.

Hutch gave a slight shrug. "Maybe, in some ways," Hutch said, giving him an honest answer. "I still miss Gillian, but at least when I think of her now, I remember more of the good things and not so many of the sad."

Starsky stared at the lip of his empty beer bottle with half hooded eyes. "I guess I'm just not there yet."

Hutch squeezed his leg making Starsky glance up.

"I know that too," Hutch said softly. "But you know I'm always here for you, pal, whenever it gets too bad."

"I know that too," Starsky said, repeating Hutch's words back to him.

Starsky then yawned and moved his feet, pushing them up against Hutch's hip. "Now get out of my bed, Blondie, and let me get some shut eye if you plan on getting me up for an early start."

Hutch smiled. "Okay."

He pulled himself up and, before retiring to his bedroom alcove, dug out a pillow and an extra blanket for his partner.

"Thanks," Starsky said. "See ya in the morning."

Hutch nodded and retired.

~s~

Starsky heard Hutch moving around in the bedroom alcove and a few minutes later the light went out.

Starsky stretched out on the couch, still in just his sweat pants, not bothering to retrieve the extra blanket Hutch had left for him. It was a warm night and at the moment he was comfortable. But despite the tiredness he felt, he found it hard to fall asleep, his mind once again drifting back to Terry. Her warmth, her softness, the way she laughed at his dumb jokes, the way she liked to snuggle up to him in the evenings, even the way she had accepted his job and even Hutch, he missed. He missed every part of her, especially the way they made love. She had just been so perfect for him.

The night she had died, a piece of him had died with her and if it hadn't been for Hutch, Starsky didn't think he'd could have survived this far.

He also knew he'd had come very close to killing Prudholm the day they finally caught him. At that moment he had been filled with such hate, such need for pure revenge, but in the end, he couldn't do it, not in cold blood for it would have only tainted the beautiful memory of Terry's love and brought him down to the same twisted level as the deranged man.

Eventually he did manage to drift off, but his dreams were filled with her presence and when he awoke briefly in the middle of the night, he found his cheeks wet with tears. He turned onto his side and buried his face into the pillow with a sad lonely sigh for a dream lost.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The wind whipped across their faces as they made their way out of Bay City and its connecting suburbs, out onto the interstate and to more open highway. They rode side by side most of the time, throwing occasional glances back and forth with each other.

It was a beautiful day, promising to warm up fast as they headed south closer to the Mexican border.

They stopped once along the way to refuel and get something cold to drink.

For the first time in a long time, Hutch saw the corners of his partner's mouth lifting into an easy smile as Starsky handed Hutch a coke, then straddled his own bike and sipped on his root beer as they sat outside a fast food joint.

Starsky unzipped his leather jacket and unbuttoned his shirt halfway down his chest to cool off, his eyes concealed behind dark ray bans. "How much longer before we get to San Carlos?"

"No more than another hour or so. It's about thirty miles passed the Mexican border," Hutch replied, cleaning the bugs off his own sunglasses before replacing them back on his face.

Starsky raked his fingers through his sweat dampened hair, having taken off the helmet for a while, enjoying the sun on his face. "This was a good idea, Hutch. The bikes are great. Thanks!"

Hutch smiled. "It's no Harley, but I figured you'd enjoy it."

Two slender women walked passed them. They smiled at Starsky appreciatively, seeming to linger on his bared chest.

Behind the dark lenses, Hutch could sense his partner watching the two women as they swayed passed, then to his amazement, he thought he saw a slight boyish blush on his face.

He chuckled. Some things still never change, he thought. His partner still managed to ooze sexuality even when he wasn't trying.

He knew Starsky caught his amused look from the slight drop in his jaw before clamping his mouth shut. Hutch's grin only widened. Yup, this was definitely turning out to be a good move.

They returned to the highway and made good time reaching the border. After passing through the border check point after showing the proper ID, they turned onto a secondary highway and headed towards the signs for San Carlos.

Here the highway thinned to only two lanes, winding around hilly and mountainous terrain which pleased Hutch as he shifted his weight to take each turn, enjoying the feel of the bike underneath him away from congested traffic of the main highway, enjoying the scenery and the warm breeze on his face.

He glanced over at his partner, and although his eyes were hidden behind the dark lenses, he could still see the corners of Starsky's mouth lifted upward as he took the next turn, gunning the engine as he accelerated out of a curve.

For a while Hutch followed behind him, watching Starsky deftly take each turn with ease, the sun glinting off the metal frame of the bike before gunning his own engine and accelerating, catching up to him, and then with a smile, inching slightly ahead.

By now it was almost high noon and the sun was decidedly much hotter.

They reached another bend in the road with a branching fork off to the right. Hutch rounded the turn but noticed his partner had chosen the right fork. He made a U-turn banking the bike slightly up off the road and into the dirt before joining his partner.

"What's up?"

"I'm hungry and thirsty."

"San Carlos is still twenty-four kilometers away."

Starsky pointed to a sign. "This here says….Tran-tranquil-la-dad," he struggled with the pronunciation.

"It's Tranquilladad," Hutch helped him out, being fluent in Spanish.

"Yeah whatever, is only four kilometers up this back road."

"It means tranquility."

"Huh?"

"The sign. It means tranquility."

"Tranquility, huh?" Starsky smiled. "Sounds like a nice place ta stop."

"What about San Carlos?"

Starsky shrugged. "Tranquility is closer, and I'm starving and thirsty for a cold beer! What time are we supposed ta meet the Judge again?"

"Three o'clock."

The original plan had been for the two detectives to deliver the papers to Judge Juarez on Sunday, but when they had gone to pick up the papers from the D.A. earlier that morning, they were told the Judge would be out of town Sunday and requested the papers to be delivered to his home at three o'clock on Saturday afternoon.

Prior to heading out, they had notified Dobey about the change in schedule.

It didn't matter much to them. Delivering the papers earlier just meant they would have all day Sunday to themselves.

"We should still be able to make our meeting with the Judge with plenty of time to spare." He revved the engine on the bike. "Tranquility it is partner."

Starsky smiled and gunned his own engine, taking off.

Hutch shifted gears, accelerating to try and catch up.

They had maybe gone about a mile or so before the ruddy asphalt road disappeared into a dirt trek. Hutch smiled enjoying the feel of the primitive road under the bike. It reminded him so much of the back trails in Duluth he and his friends had ventured out on in his youth.

His smile was wide and bright and didn't go unnoticed by his partner when he finally caught up to him.

Starsky deftly took each turn with ease, also enjoying himself, not in the least concerned about the dust being kick up in both their faces. He gunned the engine and pushed the bike to its limits, enjoying the feel of it underneath his legs. It wasn't a Harley by any means, but it was _fun_.

They had probably gone another couple miles up the dirt road before they rounded a corner and came to a stop when they saw a fellow biker blocking the road just ahead.

The man, perhaps in his early twenties, was dressed in an army surplus jacket with the sleeves cut off and wore a thin leather headband around shoulder length brown hair. He lounged lazily in the shade on a modified Harley.

Both detectives brought their bikes to a stop, somewhat surprised to see another soul in the area.

The biker sat up from his seat, crossing his arms lazily. "Afternoon."

"Hi," Hutch replied.

"Where you two heading?" the biker asked.

"To Tranquilidad," Hutch responded.

"No way to get through, man. Bridge is washed out. You'll have'ta go thirty miles round to get in the back way."

"Thanks for the warning." Hutch glanced at his partner who looked disappointed. "Guess it's back to San Carlos then, buddy."

Starsky sighed. "Guess so."

"Thanks for the info, man," Hutch told the biker.

"Sure, no problem." The biker said before starting his own engine and taking off down the road they had just come up with a spin of tires flicking up the loose dirt.

Reluctantly they turned their bikes around and headed back towards the main road. They had almost reached the point where the dirt road became asphalt again before Hutch slowed down.

Starsky looked behind him and turned his bike around.

"What's up?"

Hutch looked back at the road. "Since when does a washed out bridge stop a biker? He'd have just gone through the river bed."

Starsky shrugged. "Maybe the water's still running?"

"This time of year?" Hutch shook his head. "Everything is dry as a bone."

Hutch thought some more. "The guy was just lounging back there."

"So maybe he was tired of the heat?"

"I don't know. I mean, where did he come from though, if not the town? It's not like that's a main road. And where did he go? He wasn't that far ahead of us, but I don't hear his engine."

"I don't know," Starsky replied.

Hutch looked back at the road. His partner could read his face. "You think he was lying?" Starsky asked.

Hutch shrugged. "I don't know."

"You wanna find out, Blondie?"

"Up to it."

"If it means I can get a cold beer out of it and something to eat without driving another twenty-four kilometers, yeah, why not?"

Hutch grinned.

"Okay, Gordo, your stomach and your thirst win out."

They turned the bikes around and headed back up the road. They passed by the spot where the biker had been and went another half mile or so before they came to an abrupt stop.

They found their way suddenly blocked by their biker friend again, along with four others clustered around him.

"Well, well, well. Guess you guys didn't take the hint."

"What's going on?" Hutch asked as Starsky eased his bike up alongside his partner.

"Kill your engines," the biker ordered them.

"Why?" Starsky asked, gripping his handlebars.

"Because I told you," the man said, his lazy demeanor of early now vanished and replaced by a hard edge glitter in his eye.

"Look, we're just out for a little ride on the back roads," Hutch said. "We're not looking for any trouble."

"You should have thought of that before the two of you decided to turn back. Now kill them."

Two of the other bikers got off their bikes and stepped closer to the two friends. Both were big, rough looking men built like linebackers in leather jackets and accent chains.

Hutch looked at this partner, instantly regretting they had not brought their guns this trip.

Reluctantly he killed his engine.

The biker in the army vest held out his hand for Hutch's keys. He dropped them into his palm. The biker then looked at Starsky, who hadn't yet cut his engine off.

"Don't be stupid, pal." the man said.

Starsky gripped the handlebars.

Hutch swiveled his head towards his partner, communicating silently. _Be cool, Gordo_.

After a few more seconds Starsky reluctantly did the same and relinquished his keys.

"Off the bikes," they were then ordered.

As the two burly bikers took a step closer, they were forced to comply.

"Now push your bikes off the road behind those trees."

Both partners again looked at one another trying to size the situation up.

One of the burly bikers standing next to Hutch, gave him a hard shove, "You heard the man. Move!"

Caught off guard, Hutch lost his balance on the uneven road and clumsily toppled over on top of his bike in a tangle of arms and legs. As he fell he felt a stinging sharp pain on his shin, just above the ankle high boot as his leg caught on the protruding pedal and scrapped against it as he fell.

The bikers started to laugh.

As Hutch tried to get up from his awkward position, the biker deliberately put his foot out making Hutch trip again and fall back onto the bike, his shin and elbows hitting the metal frame again.

More laughter followed.

Seeing red, Starsky let go of his own bike, deftly hopped over it and a second later the biker who had shoved Hutch found himself being grabbed and spun around. A fist cracked up against the man's face.

As Hutch tried to get back up again, he saw Starsky being grabbed by both his arms. The biker in charge landed a swift punch to his friend's gut and another to his face, knocking Starsky's sunglasses off. His partner's left arm was then painfully twisted behind his back and the next thing Hutch saw was a switchblade knife appear next to Starsky's throat.

Hutch made a move towards them, but his way was barred by another biker who surged forward, wedging the front of his cycle between them and nearly knocking Hutch down a third time.

"Don't be a fuckin' hero," the biker sneered at Starsky, pushing the blade a little closer to his neck. "Not if you want to live another day."

Hutch could see his partner's nostrils flaring, his eyes filled with anger as he was held restrained.

"Starsky," Hutch said quickly. With the biker between them, he took his own sunglasses off so he could fix his eyes on his partner, raising his hand out, palm up.

His partner read the silent communication between them.

_I'm alright, buddy, just stay calm._

Starsky stopped resisting.

The biker held the knife to Starsky's throat a few seconds longer before finally taking a step back. With a nod to the two men holding onto Starsky, his partner was suddenly released and roughly shoved to the ground.

Starsky landed face first in the dirt, but quickly rolled defensively onto his back, covered in dust.

The young biker towered over him, the blade still welded in his hand.

"Like I said before, move the bikes off the road, out of sight."

Starsky got slowly to his feet, his stance clearly indicating his anger. He pointed to the biker. "We'll do like you say, just make sure your friend keeps his fuckin' hands off my buddy this time."

The biker merely sneered back, amused.

The biker who had blocked Hutch inched his cycle back a few feet out of Hutch's way. Hutch pulled his bike upright, wincing from the pain in his shin. Starsky followed. Both pushed the bikes off the road and awkwardly up a short incline, concealing them behind some scrub trees.

"You all right, Hutch?" Starsky asked quickly in a low voice.

Hutch took off his helmet and hung it on the handlebars. "Yeah, how 'bout you?"

"Nothing worse than a little hurt pride," he replied, touching his bruised cheek. He too took off his helmet and did the same.

"Look, just keep cool buddy 'till we figure out what the hell's going on here," Hutch told him.

Both returned to dusty road.

"So what now?" Hutch asked, still panting slightly from the effort of pushing the bike up the incline.

"Now you two are going to start walking."

"Where?" Starsky demanded.

"You'll find out soon enough, Hero. Georgie, Spicks, head back, let Python know we got a couple more guests joining us."

The two bikers that had grabbed Starsky by the arms earlier nodded and got back on their cycles. "Miguel, stay here. Keep an eye on the road."

The third biker nodded.

The biker in the surplus vest then looked at the two friends. "Get moving!"

The two detectives glanced at each other then with a slight shrug they started walking. They heard the gun of engines and looked back to see the young biker and the fifth man following them.

Hutch winced as he walked.

"You're limping," Starsky said.

"It's nothing, just banged my shine up pretty good when I fell over."

Starsky looked down and it was then he noticed the small crimson stain seeping through Hutch's pants. "Think ya did a little more that that."

Hutch heard the angry tone returning to his partner's voice.

"Can't be that bad. I can still walk," Hutch said, ignoring the pain, just wanting to keep his partner calm. When it came to Hutch's safety, Starsky was extremely protective.

The sun beat relentlessly down on the two of them as they walked upon the hard dirt packed road.

After a while, Starsky unzipped his leather jacket and shrugged out of it, draping it over his shoulder, grumbling. They glanced back to see their escorts still with them and found them smiling as they followed the pair.

Hutch's injured leg hit a rut in the road, his ankle turning, his knee suddenly going out from underneath him. Instinctively he grabbed onto Starsky's arm, nearly pulling him down to the ground with him.

"Get moving!" the biker said.

Starsky held onto to Hutch biceps, steadying him, noticing his partner's grimace of pain. "Just give us a minute. My buddy hurt his leg back there when your friend pushed him over. Just let me check it out real quick."

"I'm fine, Starsk."

Starsky ignored him. Instead he helped Hutch hobble over the side of the road and sit down on the slight incline near some scrub brush. He then lifted Hutch's pant leg to check the injury.

Hutch couldn't help the inward hiss as the material scrapped up his leg and over his knee exposing a four to five inch long laceration down his shin. It wasn't extremely deep, but deep enough that it bled freely down his leg and into his sock just above the ankle high boot. Combined with a nice bruise forming, it smarted like hell.

"Take it easy, Hutch."

Starsky then reached up and untied the bandana Hutch was wearing around his neck. Opening it up, he shook it out then folded it, before wrapping it around his partner's leg to at least stop the bleeding. "It's not too bad, buddy, but we need to get it cleaned out."

Hutch stoically tried not to wince as Starsky tightened the make shift bandage, but it didn't fool his partner one bit, easily reading the concerned look beneath the anger on Starsky's face.

"He's alright!" the biker barked, pulling up alongside them, practically ramming the front wheel of the bike into Starsky's leg. "Get moving!"

He could feel Starsky's hands clenching against his leg.

"It's okay, Starsk. Just be cool," Hutch said as his partner quickly finished his ministrations before lowering his partner's pant leg down. He helped Hutch back up to his feet.

"I'm alright," Hutch reassured as the bikers continued glared at him. "Think I just jarred it when I stumbled in that hole back there."

"Get moving!"

The two detectives reluctantly resumed their walk.

"How much further?" Starsky asked after a several more minutes passed, his shirt now sticking uncomfortably to his chest as Hutch continued to limp slightly next to him.

"Just over the bridge," the biker replied.

Starsky looked at the wooden bridge that came into view ahead of them. "Well, look at that, buddy. Amazing how fast that got repaired. You get the notion, Hutch, these guys fibbed to us? I don't think the bridge was ever washed out."

The biker revved his engine. "Shut up funny man and keep moving!"

They crossed the single lane wooden bridge that stretched over a dried up river bed. As they walked up the road a bit farther they could hear the distinct revving of motorcycle engines. They rounded another bend in the road and found themselves entering a very small little Mexican village.

Across the street a row of more than a dozen sleek chrome and leather bikes were parked in front of a two story wooden building. A couple of bikers in leather vests and T-shirts where sitting on their cycles, while others in faded denim appeared to be loitering in chairs on the wide veranda style porch watching as a couple of their comrades raced their cycles up and down the street, circling and coming back.

A faded sign above the two story building read "Hotel del Tranquilladad."

Hutch glanced at the motorcycle gang and then at his partner. "Welcome to Tranquility, Starsk."

"Terrific."

TBC...

(thanks for the positive feedback to the start of this story...hope you enjoy the rest)


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The two detectives stood in the middle of a wide dirt street in the little Mexican town that had the appearance of something right out of an old western movie.

Their escorts parked behind them and got off their bikes while several others joined them until they found themselves surrounded in a full circle by nearly a dozen or so bikers.

Their friend in the green vest nodded to one of his fellow members who then disappeared inside the hotel. A few minutes later another man walked out, but this one was different. For one he clearly possessed a distinction of authority as several of the other bikers turned their heads to look at him, then parted the circle to allow him entrance.

The biker was tall, somewhat older than the rest, closer to Starsky and Hutch's own age. He had kinky dark reddish hair with a red bandana worn tied around his forehead, a lean face with a square jaw and sharp eyes. Unlike the other bikers who wore leather or denim, this man wore buckskin suede colored pants and a vest, with fringe hanging off the ends and almost looked like a hippy from Woodstock except for the bold tattoo of a snake starting at the wrist and coiling up his left arm and around his neck. The head of the snake had its mouth open with the fangs positioned at the man's jugular vein.

He regarded the two men before him. "These the two that didn't heed your advice, Lonnie?"

The younger biker nodded. "Yeah, Python. These are the guys."

"Who's watching the road?" the man asked.

"Miguel."

"Send a couple more boys back. I don't want anyone _else_ showing up unexpectedly."

Lonnie turned his head to the two others that had been with him earlier and nodded. Without arguing, they backed away, got on their bikes and headed back out of town.

The man assessed the two men. "It's hot as blazes out here. Bring them over to the police station."

He turned and headed across the street towards a small single story building with "Policia" written on the wooden board.

The two detectives found themselves suddenly surrounded by five bikers, including their vested friend clearly indicating they were to follow.

"After you, buddy," Hutch said.

Starsky glanced at him. "Thanks."

The small police station which basically consisted of a couple of desks, some benches and one cell took on a cramped appearance as Python, the five bikers and Starsky and Hutch crowded inside. The only thing missing seemed to be any type of local lawman.

The bike leader perched himself casually on the corner of the desk. His eyes then settled on the two detectives. "So just what _are_ the two of doing here?"

"Like we said to your friends back on the road, we're just a couple of dirt bikers out for a ride," Hutch replied. "We weren't looking for any trouble, man."

"That so?" Python addressed Starsky.

"That's right. We were just out for some fun."

"What are you names?"

"Hutchinson, Ken Hutchinson and my buddy is David Starsky," Hutch answered for them.

The biker leader nodded to his men and suddenly both friends were grabbed, one man on each arm restraining them while Lonnie stepped forward and patted them down, taking their wallets out of their pockets.

He handed the two bi-fold leather wallets to Python who opened them and then stared down at each of the gold shields with a deep frown.

He read off the ID cards next to the shields. "Detective David Michael Starsky and Detective Kenneth Hutchinson of the Bay City Police Department. Just a couple of regular guys out for a ride, huh?" Python said.

"They're fuckin' cops?" Lonnie hissed.

"Even cops take a vacation, sometimes," Hutch replied.

Lonnie produced his knife again, this time angrily setting the tip of the blade against Hutch's chest. "We ought to waste these two right now, Python!"

Hutch could feel the pointed tip pressing slightly into his flesh and tried to remain perfectly still.

Starsky strained against the two men holding him. "Leave him alone! He's telling you the truth!"

Lonnie pressed the knife a little harder until the blade pricked Hutch's skin. At Hutch's wince, a twisted smile appeared.

"Slice him, and I'll fuckin' kill you asshole!" Starsky threatened as he continued to struggle.

Python watched the display for a moment longer. "Put the blade away, Lonnie."

Angry, wild eyes stared up at Hutch. "Why should I? Fuckin' lousy cops! They're all the same!"

"I said, put it away" The leader's tone breeched no further argument.

The knife hovered a second longer on Hutch's chest before it was angrily withdrawn.

"Go cool off for a while over at the hotel," Python told the younger man.

The young biker shook his head, his anger clearly unabated.

The biker leader rose from his leaning position against the desk and grabbed Lonnie up by the vest with his fist. "Killing two cops right isn't going to help our situation."

"Someone needs to pay!" the other snapped back.

"And the guilty will. But we're going to do this thing my way, you understand?" The biker leader gave a jerk on the vest making the younger biker look up at him. "_My way_, you got it?"

Lonnie twisted out of his grasp. "Ya, I got it!"

Python's voice dropped to a softer edge. "Now go on. Do like I say."

Lonnie glanced once more at his leader, then back at the two detectives before storming out the door.

The biker watched him go with a frown before turning his attention back to the two cops.

"Your friend is wound up pretty tight," Starsky said.

Python's eyes narrowed and stepped over on the curly headed cop, his gaze piercing, cold. "We all are, so don't press your luck with me, pig. It'll only go worse for the both of you in the end."

He held Starsky's gaze for a moment before turning back and resuming his leaning stance on the desk. With a nod to his men, the two cops were released.

They stood quietly, each trying to gauge the situation and the man before them.

The biker leader sighed and picked up their badges again. "I'm only going to ask this once again cops and I expect a straight answer. What's your business in Tranquilidad?"

"Nothing," Hutch replied.

Just then an old police car covered in dust pulled up in front of the building.

Through the window, the two detectives could see four occupants inside with two more bikers pulling up behind the car.

The front passenger door opened and a man dressed in a denim vest and T-Shirt climbed out. He opened the back door and motioned with his hands. A second later an elderly man and a woman emerged, clearly distressed and huddled close to one another. One of the other bikers who had tailed them got off his cycle and opened the driver's door. A few seconds later a uniformed Mexican police officer stepped out, his face angrily set.

"Watch these two," Python ordered as he stepped out onto the porch.

Through the open door, the two detectives were able to hear the conversation.

"That's the last of them, Python."

The biker leader stood before the police officer who had his fists clenched at his sides.

"That true, Sargento? That everyone?"

"Si," he replied through gritted teeth.

"Good. Put him back in the cell. Take these two over to the church with the rest of them. Make sure they're _comfortable_."

The old man spoke rapidly in Spanish, eyes frightened as the couple was led away.

The Mexican police officer was escorted inside. He glanced curiously up at Starsky and Hutch as he was pushed across the room and locked in the cell.

One of the bikers handed Python the keys. The biker leader walked around the desk and opened the drawer, withdrawing a pistol as he dropped the keys inside.

Python held the pistol casually as once again he directed his attention at the two cops.

"Now, gentleman. Where were we? Oh, yes. Now I remember. You were going to tell me why two cops from Bay City find Tranquilidad so interesting."

"We don't. It was hot and we just had a thirst," Starsky replied. "Tranquility sounded like a nice place for a detour on our way to San Carlos."

"And what's your business in San Carlos?"

"Vacation, just like we said." Hutch replied. "I heard there were some nice dirt bike trails up that way."

"There are, some of the best. You should have stuck to your original plan."

"We're more than happy to do just that, if you'll let us go," Hutch replied.

Python let out a small snort, his mouth lifting into a humorous line. "I'm afraid that's not going to be possible, gentleman. For now, consider yourselves our guests."

Starsky swiveled his head briefly towards his partner, frowning.

The biker leader continued. "You see we have some important business in this little town, and nobody, especially _cops_, get to leave until we're done here."

"What exactly is your business here?" Starsky asked.

Python's eyes swiveled towards the curly headed cop. "Justice, pig. Pure and simple."

"With that?" Starsky inquired, indicating the gun still held in the man's hand.

Python smiled. "You mean this thing?"

Suddenly the gun was pointed at Starsky's chest. Hutch's eyes widened in fear as the safety catch was released and the man in suede curled his finger around the trigger.

Starsky stood frozen.

Python's mouth curled in amusement, "I doubt this piece of crap could hit the side of the hotel across the street. However, I imagine it could still make a nice size hole in a nosey, sarcastic pig's chest."

Hutch could see Starsky's muscle's tensing up but he stood his ground, the eyes becoming hooded.

_Take it easy, partner, _Hutch silently said. _No sudden moves, babe._

The biker leader chuckled before raising the gun away. "Don't worry, my friend. It belongs to the Sargento over here. I'm just keeping it safe for him, so he doesn't get any _funny_ ideas."

The Mexican officer scowled from behind the cell.

Python opened the chamber and emptied out all the shells, letting them fall into his open palm. "See, harmless, now."

He tossed the empty pistol back in the top drawer, locked it and pocketed the bullets.

The police officer gripped the bars on the cell. "You will not get away with this!"

Python's features changed to an angry set line as he approached his prisoner. "Shut up! We gave you your chance!"

"These things take time to properly investigate, senor."

"Time! We gave you time. And what have you given us? Lies, stories, silence!"

"It is a complicated matter."

"There's nothing complicated about, Sargento. You've got a murder here, and we intend to find him, _one way_ or the other."

"I-It is a matter for the Policia, not…not _vigilantes_!"

The biker leader jabbed his finger towards the man. "Call us what you like, pig, but we're not leaving until we get the truth, all of it!"

"You can not hold an entire village hostage!" the Sargento exclaimed.

"No? Looks like I've done just that, now, doesn't it?"

The officer swallowed. "Please, senor, be reasonable. These are all innocent, hard working people."

The biker leader laughed cynically. "And that makes it all right? To hide the truth? Or maybe that's how it works down here, huh? Because they were one of us, it doesn't matter?"

"It is not like that!"

"No? Well from where I'm standing, it's exactly like that."

Starsky and Hutch stood silently curiously listening to the exchange.

The bike leader suddenly turned towards them.

"You want to know why we're here, pigs? You want to know the _real_ reason we rode in, took over this stinkin' little town, or maybe I should let the Sargento explain?"

The Mexican police office clamped his mouth shut.

"No? I didn't think so," Python said acidly. "A week ago, we found them, Jessie and his girl. Buried in the cemetery like some piece of trash, throw aways. No explanation other than they were found dead, shot."

"It is a complicated case, with little _evidencia_."

"_Evidencia_! Well don't worry, Saragento. We're here to help you find all the evidencia you need." The biker leader looked at the two men still standing before him. "And nobody in this town, not even two nosey cops with some bullshit vacation story are going to stop us."

"And when you find him, what then? What are you going to do to him, to the rest of this town?" Starsky asked.

"That's going to depend on how long this takes, how much _co-operation_ I get," he replied in a cold, steel voice. The biker leader glared at Starsky. "You see, pig, Jessie wasn't just a member of my gang, he was also my best friend and Lonnie's big brother, dig? And Lonnie and Jessie were tight, real tight, get it." Python's eyes looked back at the Sargento laced with acid before turning back to them. "Jessie and Carla weren't looking for any trouble. They just wanted to come down to Mexico and get married in a quiet little town, that's all. And what did they get instead? Dead! Shot down in cold blood!"

"If they were shot, there are ways to find out who did it without making a whole town pay," Hutch said. "Bullets can be traced back to a gun."

"They weren't killed by bullets. Both got it with a load of buckshot!"

Python looked down at the two cops, eyes glittering. "Carla was a pretty girl, real pretty. I'm sure two cops can imagine what buckshot can do to a pretty face!" He suddenly turned away and let out a long deep sigh, as if both tired and disgusted.

Still standing with his back to them, he told his men. "Put these two in the cell with the Sargento for now and two of you stay here and watch them." With that, the biker leader abruptly walked out.

The cell was unlocked. "You heard the man."

As Hutch stepped in, he caught his foot on his own shoe and clumsily fell against Starsky as the cell door was locked behind them.

"Sorry," Hutch muttered, slightly embarrassed.

"Can't take you anywhere without tripping all over the place, can I, Blintz?"

"Shut up!"

Their jailers moved away and settled themselves comfortably in a couple of chairs next to one of the desks.

Hutch sat tiredly down on one of two small cots in the small narrow cell. The Sargento sat down on the other leaving Starsky standing in the middle.

"Well, this is cozy. Guess I get the floor?"

Hutch scooted over. "I'll share as long as you don't get any funny ideas."

"You're not exactly my type, Blondie, but I'll accept the offer."

Starsky plopped wearily down tossing his leather jacket to the side in the corner.

The small cell was stuffy, the afternoon sun now shinning directly on the West facing side of the building, its hot rays filtering in from the small single barred window on the wall between the two cots.

Starsky pulled at his sweat dampened shirt. "Don't suppose we're gonna get that cold beer anytime soon, eh, partner?"

Hutch shrugged out of his windbreaker, also drenched in sweat. "Right now I'd just settle for some water." He winced as he straightened his left leg out in the narrow space between the two cots.

Starsky frowned. "How's the leg?"

"It's okay, little sore."

Starsky reached over to lift up the pant leg up but Hutch slapped his hand away. "I said its okay."

"Stop being a baby and let me check it."

"It's fine, Starsk!"

His partner just stubbornly glared at him, not backing down.

Hutch irritably slid his pant leg up, wincing again. The bandana Starsky had wrapped around his leg earlier was saturated in blood but appeared to have at least stopped the bleeding. Hutch's leg however looked slightly swollen with the angry bruise.

"It needs ta be cleaned and redressed. You don't need another infection in that leg again."

"Well I don't exactly see any proper equipment about to do that, so it'll just have to wait." With that, Hutch pushed his pant leg down.

Starsky frowned worriedly and Hutch knew his partner was thinking back to the time Humphries had hired a goon to push his car over a cliff and Hutch's leg had been trapped under his car for nearly forty-eight hours. He'd been lucky his leg hadn't been completely crushed instead of a compound fracture, but he'd ended up developing a nasty Staph infection in the bone later that the doctors had been pretty concerned about. It had made Hutch pretty sick and for several days he had run a high fever and had been in a lot of pain.

As usual he'd refused anything stronger for the pain other than some Tylenol with Codeine and just tried to grin and bare it. Starsky had not left his side the whole time until his fever had finally broken and he was out of danger as the heavy duty antibiotics finally kicked in. It had taken a little time but luckily the infection had finally cleared up.

Afterwards, even though he was completely healed, the doctor had warned Hutch the bone would be susceptible to infection for quite a while.

That had been six months ago and still, whenever he ended up with even a little scrap to his left leg, his protective partner was practically pouncing on him.

Hutch hated to be fussed over. It was not the "Hutchinson" way to show vulnerability. One was supposed to always keep a stiff upper lip. And for the most part that was true of his personality, finding it easier to give attention than to receive it.

Yet, deep inside, Hutch welcomed Starsky's protectiveness and caring. It was not so much about the physical stuff. Pain he could tolerate and his partner could be remarkable gently when Hutch was hurting and had a way of taking care of him without being overly fussy. It was more the feeling of being isolated and alone, especially whenever he was stuck in a hospital and not in control of his own decisions, that he hated and feared more, especially after his forced addiction and after being trapped under his car in the canyon.

The ingrained fear he knew stemmed back to his childhood where the main form of punishment in the "Hutchinson" household for any minor infraction of the rules or embarrassment to the family was forced isolation, sometimes for hours at a time, designed to make Hutch "think" about his actions until they aligned to his father's stern will.

Hutch never voiced his fears though, and he never would, but Starsky knew them anyway and just understood. It was just one of those things about Starsky, his ability to read him like no other, that he appreciated the most and made their friendship so strong.

Hutch settled back on the cot.

The Mexican police offer gazed at the two men curiously. "Are you two really American policia?"

"'Fraid so," Hutch replied.

"You should no have come here, senors."

"Yeah, so we've been told a couple of times already," Starsky replied.

Outside they could hear motor bikes going up and down street again, followed by some cheering. "Not exactly tranquil in Tranquility today, eh?" Starsky said.

He shifted in the cot, frowning slightly.

"So how long have your guests been here?" Hutch asked.

"Since very early this morning, before dawn," the Sargento replied. "Since then they have been rounding up my people and holding them over at the church."

"Is it true what he said, about two of their members being found dead?" Hutch asked.

"_Si. Una tradegia_."

"So what exactly happened?"

The officer shrugged. "We do no know. They were just found dead in the _cementerio_."

Starsky shifted in the cot again, looking a bit uncomfortable. "The what?"

"The cemetery," Hutch translated.

"Oh."

"Si, the cemetery, behind the church."

"When did this happen?"

"About a month ago. There was an inquest, but I'm afraid we were not able to discover much," the Sargento told them.

"What about shell casings? They could a least be traced back to the type of gun used, maybe had some fingerprints?"

The Sargento shrugged. "There were none. They were not killed there, only dumped."

"Who found them?"

"Senor Calderon, the hotel owner, when he went to take his evening walk."

"Creepy place to wanna take a walk," Starsky muttered.

A few minutes later Starsky was jiggling his leg up and down, shaking the cot slightly making Hutch look annoyingly at him. "What is it, Starsk?"

His partner suddenly looked a little embarrassed.

In a whisper he said, "I gotta use the John."

"I thought you went to the bathroom a couple of hours ago."

"I did," he muttered.

Hutch rolled his eyes. His partner had the smallest bladder!

"Just try to think about something else."

"Easy for you ta say. You've got the bladder of a race horse!"

The Sargento slid a bucket out from underneath the cot.

Starsky stared down at it in disgust. "You gotta be kidding."

The Sargento shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry, senor. It is the best I can do. We do not get very many prisoners here, except for the occasional drunk."

"I'll hold it."

Ten minutes later Starsky was driving Hutch nuts. "For heaven's sakes. Just piss in the bucket."

Starsky scowled but urgency was winning out on his pride.

"All right, but would ya at least…" he jerked his head towards the cell door where the two bikers left as guards were busy playing cards on the desk in clear view.

Hutch rolled his eyes and stood up and leaned against the cell door, effectively blocking their view. Starsky then looked at the Sargento who grinned and turned his face away.

Starsky stood up, unzipped his jeans and quickly did his business. Relieved, he started to tuck himself back in when he observed from the small cell window a woman appear in a garden area just behind the jail. A man in a long black robe and a white collar about his neck stood up from his kneeling position as she approached.

The woman looked upset, agitated and buried her hands in her face. The Padre reached over and placed his hand on her shoulder. The two spoke rapidly in Spanish from the little bit of the conversation that filtered his way.

Suddenly the Padre dropped his hand, his face becoming angrily set as one of the bikers came into view. The Padre said something briefly to the man before reaching down and gathering up several vegetables and putting them into the woman's basket. The woman stared at the biker, clearly uneasy as he leered back at her. The Padre nodded to the woman who quickly took off.

The Padre continued to glare at the biker before the man chuckled and walked away.

"Are you reading the National Geographic over there, Gordo, or are you done?" Hutch asked.

"Oh, uh, yeah." Starsky quickly zipped his fly up.

He sat back down on the cot. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Hutch replied. He then addressed the Sargento. "What can you tell us about this gang, their leader?"

The Mexican officer shrugged. "Two of them rode in about week ago, looking for their friends. They were angry when they found out what happened to them. They started causing trouble and my Captain and I had to kick them out of town."

"Your Captain, where's he?"

"Away on a deep sea fishing trip in the Gulf of Mexico. He will not be back for a few weeks. The rest I have already told you. They simply rode in this morning. Their leader forced me to drive out and round up my people, bring them back here."

Outside the cell, the two bikers playing cards looked over at them sneering.

"They are nothing but filthy vigilantes, the whole lot!" The Sargento sputtered under his breath.

The officer then grew silent, withdrawing into his own anger.

The heat in the cell was oppressive as they were made to sit and wait for how long neither detective could guess. Eventually the Sargento sighed and stretched out on the cot, crossing his arms and closing his eyes wearily, leaving the two detectives to their own company.

They tried to situate themselves into a comfortable position on the second cot as they waited. Starsky unbuttoned his shirt completely trying to scoot out of the direct rays of sunlight shining in on his side of the cot.

After what seemed like an insurmountable time had passed, Hutch heard a long grumpy exhale next to him.

"What time is it?" Starsky asked. He was slouched miserably down against the wall as the afternoon heat radiated into the tiny cell, not even a slight breeze to offer any relief.

"Why don't you look at your watch?" Hutch said tiredly, feeling the sweat rolling down his neck.

"Can't. Remember? I broke the crystal chasin' Vinny Linguini up onto the roof last week."

"Lugiani," Hutch corrected.

"Whatever! Had ta leave it at the jewelers to get it fixed."

"Oh." Hutch closed his eyes, trying not to feel like a puddle.

"So, what time is it?" Starsky asked again, nudging Hutch in the arm.

Hutch opened his eyes, slightly annoyed. He wiped the sweat from his brow before digging into the front pocket of his jeans and extracting his grandfather's pocket watch. "Two-thirty."

Starksy sighed. The exhale was filled with irritation and boredom, idleness not being an attribute his partner dealt with well.

A few minutes more passed.

"I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry, Gordo. What else is new?"

Starsky's lolled his head towards his partner, too hot to want to move the rest of his body. "You know," his partner said conversationally, long silences also not being a strong suite for his bored partner. "Terry used'ta make the best Chicken Cacciatore. Made it with red wine. Cooked it real slow until it melted in your mouth." Starsky smiled, making Hutch's annoyance melt away and his mouth turn slightly upward.

"I liked her Hawaiian chicken burgers," he said.

"She only made them for you. She was allergic to pineapple ya know."

"No, I didn't know that," Hutch replied with some surprise.

"Yup. Broke out in a rash, big puffy face, watery eyes, the whole works. Found that out on our third date after I served her pineapple wine."

"Pineapple wine?"

"Mmm. Huggy gave it ta me. He had a case of the stuff his cousin Leroy traded him for a watch. Spent the whole evenin' dabbing Calamine lotion all over her back." Starsky grinned. "She was so damn miserable, but so damn cute too. Couldn't help but ta kiss her puffy swollen lips."

Hutch chuckled.

Sad indigo blue eyes looked at him. "You wanna know how I knew she was so perfect for me?"

"How?" Hutch asked.

The corners of his mouth lifted just a little. "Because she really liked you too."

Starsky sighed and swiveled his head back so he was looking forward again, staring off into space so that he missed the sudden tightening in Hutch's throat from the lump that had formed there.

Hutch said nothing, just placed his hand on Starsky's thigh.

He couldn't help but remember Terry and how she had just so easily accepted him as part of the package that came with Starsky. Both had lost women from time to time over their job, but sometimes because of their friendship as well, not quite able to understand the closeness they shared. As partners on the streets, it was their unique friendship that kept each other alive but also sane, yet both realized on a personal level some women found that intimidating.

Terry had been the exception. She had an easy going nature and had not only accepted Hutch's presence but genuinely seemed grateful for it. Once she had even pulled Hutch aside and had told him she was so thankful Starsky had someone who she knew would do his best to keep him safe. It was the only time she had voiced her real fears about Starsky's job, but he knew also she would never ask Starsky to quit something he loved doing so much. Like Hutch, that too was part of the package that made up the man she loved.

"So…How long do ya think they're planning on keeping us locked up in this roasting sardine can?" Starsky asked, breaking Hutch's thoughts.

"Your guess is as good as mine, partner," he replied.

It was then the two bikers guarding them looked up from their game as a third biker entered. Both detectives and the Sargento, who they had thought had fallen asleep, suddenly sat up.

"Python says to bring them over to the hotel," the biker said to his companions.

The cell was unlocked. "Just these two. The Sargento stays put."

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

**thanks for the all the reviews so far, much appreciated and helpful :)**

**Chapter 4**

Outside the roar of cycles was almost deafening as the three riders raced up and down the dirt street. In the center of the commotion, Lonnie revved the modified Harley and ran the bike through a pile of metal gallon size cans stack up outside a small mechanic's shop. He then turned around and chased an old dog down the street, all the while being cheered on by his companions.

There was a crash of glass as another rider passed by, laughing as he threw a rock into a shop window.

From the hotel, Python appeared. He watched the mayhem for a second then grabbed an old tire stacked up nearby. As Lonnie passed after taking out several potted plants on a porch, Python tossed the tire at him, knocking him off the bike.

He landed in the dirt and the biker leader gave him no chance to react before he was hauling the younger man to his feet.

"I told you to go chill out!"

"I'm just having some fun while I convince these pricks to co-operate."

"And I told you we're going to do this my way!"

Lonnie pushed away from the older man, snarling "Well maybe I'm sick of waiting. Maybe all of us are. I say we just burn the whole fuckin' town down now!"

Python clenched his fists. "You're stoned Lonnie."

"So what if I am?" the younger biker spat, slapping his chest. "I gotta a right! Fuckin' assholes, the whole lot of them!"

Some of the anger left Python. "It's my fight too, Lonnie. You need to let me take care of it!"

His voice still laced with anger, Lonnie threatened back. "You better, Python, I swear you better, or me and the boys will! And I don't care who the fuck gets hurt along the way. Jessie deserves that at least!"

Lonnie spun away, back to his cycle and hauled it up out of the dirt. Climbing on, he revved the engine and then took off in a cloud of dust.

"Should we go after him?" One of the other biker's asked.

Python shook his head. "Leave him be for a while, Santo. Let him cool down."

"He's right, you know," Santo said. "It ain't right. Jessie deserves to be revenged."

"And he will, but I'm still in charge and we're still going to do this _my way_!" Python replied with an icy, impatient edge that breech no further discussion.

He turned to the two cops standing, listening. "Come inside."

Starsky and Hutch followed the man in suede inside the hotel.

Behind the hotel's front desk a tall man with dark thinning hair and a hooked nose watched as they were led passed the small lobby and into a dining area where a dozen or so square tables where scattered about. Most of the tables were still dirty with a few bikers just finishing up their meals.

Next to a long counter which divided the kitchen area from the dining room, a young Mexican woman was busy clearing a table and stacking dirty glasses on the back counter. Starsky immediately recognized her as the woman he had seen in the garden through the cell window.

As she moved passed on her way to clean another table, one of two bikers still sitting grabbed her by the waist and tried to pull her down on his lap.

She gasped and cried out, trying to pull away from him angrily mouthing off something in Spanish.

The biker laughed, enjoying her struggle.

"Feisty little thing, aren't ya?" When she twisted away from him, the biker grabbed her by the wrist, chuckling.

The young woman's eyes became fearful as she tried to break free of the biker's iron grip.

"Let her go!" Python snapped.

"Oh, we're just having a little fun," the biker said amused, as the young woman continued to struggle.

"I said leave her be! We didn't come here for that!"

The biker leader's eyes were glacial. Seeing the look, the biker reluctantly let her go, but his eyes still lingered on the girl making her back uncomfortably away as she rubbed at her sore wrist.

Python kicked the chair, still annoyed. "If you two are finished eating, go relieve the boys at the church. Once everyone's fed we'll get started."

With a shrug, the biker threw his napkin down and nodded to his companion, who took one last swig of his beer and stood up. As the two left, the biker leered at the young Mexican woman making her look nervously away.

Immediately after the two bikers walked out, the man standing behind the reception desk marched over, visibly angry, fuming.

"We fed you! We did what you said! But my daughter I will not…"

"Can it, Calderon. She ain't hurt," Python snapped back. "The boys were just having some fun. Now get back out in the lobby!"

The man hesitated, still angry.

"Go on! Before I have one of my boys drag you back out there," Python told him.

The man, still upset, was nevertheless intimidated by the biker. With clenched fists he reluctantly retreated back behind the desk. A woman came out from the back office and stepped close to Calderon's side.

Python turned back to Starsky and Hutch motioning them over to a back table.

"Make yourselves comfortable."

The two detectives slowly sat down.

"Rosita, bring a couple of beers for me and our guests."

The young waitress stood frozen.

"Go on. I ain't going to bite," Python said, using a softer, almost tired tone.

She reluctantly complied. She returned with three bottles of beer and some glasses. As she set them on the table, Starsky noticed the angry bruise forming on her wrist before she moved away.

The two detectives looked at the biker leader.

"Go on, drink," Python said. "It ain't poisoned, at least not by me." He shot a look across the room to the hotel clerk who stood glaring at them.

Python grabbed his own beer, forgoing the glass, and sat back in his seat.

Both detectives reached for their own drinks. Despite the situation, each savored the coldness against their parched throats as they drank.

After a few minutes the biker inquired. "You two really a pair of detectives or just a couple of ticket cops?"

"We're detectives," Hutch replied. "Homicide division."

Python curled his lip. "How appropriate."

"Why the sudden interest?" Starsky asked.

Python's eyes narrowed slightly, not liking Starsky's tone. "In case you haven't noticed, I've got a real volatile situation here brewing. You see, Jessie and his girl were well liked. We were all very tight, dig?"

"We dig," Starsky said.

The biker regarded them coolly. "Most of the time we ride peaceful and don't make trouble unless trouble is dumped on us. That's our general rule. But we also take care our own. Two of my people are dead and that can't go unpunished, but it doesn't have to necessarily end in a bloodbath."

"So what exactly do you want from us?" Starsky asked.

"You're the detectives, I sure you can figure it out."

"You want us to help you found out who killed your friends?" Hutch replied.

Python tipped his beer slightly at them. "That would be the general idea."

"So you can do what? Kill whosever responsible?" Starsky sneered.

"Payment needs to be made."

"Sorry, we don't play that kind of game," Starsky replied with an angry edge to his voice.

Python narrowed his gaze on Starsky as he leaned slightly forward in his seat "Listen up, Hero. I ain't got nothing personal against you or even most of the people here. But you need to understand something. On one side of the road I got a whole church full of people. Old men, woman and children. On the other side I've got a gang of hot headed bikers wanting some justice, justice they deserve. At some point it's going to come to a head, you understand?"

"You're their leader," Starsky replied hardly.

"So I am. And so far they've respected that, not just because I'm their leader, but because they know how close Jessie and I were. In some ways he was just like my brother. But booze and drugs and a whole lot of anger does a lot on a hot day over time."

The biker sighed deeply. "I ain't exactly in the business of wasting a bunch of kids and women, despite what you may think, but it's only going to be a matter time before I start to loose respect, understand? So unless you two really want to see this town burned down, I suggest you seriously consider my offer."

Both detectives looked grimly at each other.

"You cooperate with me and _maybe_ you can keep a whole bunch of innocent people from getting hurt or don't and live with the consequences. Either way, we'll get what we came for."

Hutch could see his partner's jaw muscles clenching. Neither detective like head games, but for Starsky in particular, after Prudholm…

"Doesn't sound like you're giving us much of an option," Starsky replied.

"I'm just laying it on the line straight, pig, that's all."

Python sat casually back in his seat, yet his eyes remained sharp, intelligent, gauging.

"What about your hot headed friend?" Starsky said.

"You mean Lonnie?" Python shrugged. "He's young, wild and right now full of a lot of hate, a lot of pain. He's got the right, but a lot of my boys feel the same way. They want justice."

"Justice or revenge? They are two different things." Starsky said.

Python smiled cynically. "From a cop's point of view, perhaps. But we don't ride in your world, pig. From ours there's not much difference."

The biker leader took a slow sip on his beer. "Think about it, pigs. Just don't take too long. Sun's getting hotter and my boys are getting anxious."

He allowed them to finish their beers before he got up, motioning them to follow.

Outside, he headed across the wide dirt trek street towards a small white washed adobe Mission style church.

Starsky and Hutch slowly followed uneasily behind, aware of several sets of eyes watching them.

The Padre met the biker leader as they entered the church. Inside, at least three dozen curious, nervous and frightened sets of eyes ranging in all ages stared back from the pews. Banking each side of the benches, several bikers stood guard.

Both detectives frowned heavily as they noted the situation.

"Why are you doing this?" The Padre demanded.

"You know why Padre, so do the rest," Python replied. "We are only here to find out the truth, get some answers, and bring a little justice. Cooperate and no one gets hurt."

"Not here! Not in God's House will I allow this evil."

Python smiled cynically. "Why not here? Isn't this the place for _confession_, Padre? For the _cleansing of the soul_?"

"God's House is for forgiveness, for love, not for hate or vengeance. I will not allow this! Not here!"

Python sneered. "What are you going to do? Stop me?"

"I-If I must. You will have to go through me first before I will allow it!"

"I'll be our pleasure," one of the bikers sneered, making a move towards the Padre.

He gulped hard but shakily stood his ground.

Python chuckled, holding his hand up. "You got guts, Padre. I'll give you that." He cocked his head to the side. "All right, Holy Man. I'll agree to your request, just to show you I can be a reasonable man to _some_ extent."

"But Python," one of the biker's started to argue back.

"Shut up! We can do this as easily at the hotel as in the church. It makes no difference to me."

The Padre nodded in acknowledgement.

"Move them over to the hotel, everyone except for the kids," Python ordered. The Padre's head snapped up. "They stay here, Holy Man, with a couple of your woman and some of my men, just to make sure none of your people get any funny ideas."

The Padre hesitated, then nodded before he turned and spoke rapidly in Spanish, gathering the small frightened congregation up, leaving two of the older woman to watch the dozen or so children.

"Please," The Padre said. "The children, they have been sitting for many hours. They need food, some water."

Python nodded in agreement, turning to one of his men. "See to it their needs are met. They won't be hurt, Padre. The rest of you, over to the hotel!"

The small congregation filtered out into the hot afternoon sun, glancing nervously about at the bikers lined up on each side of the street.

As Starsky and Hutch followed behind they could feel Python's eyes upon them.

"So what are we gonna do?" Starsky whispered to Hutch as they trailed behind the group.

"I don't know."

"You know if we help him and they actually find out who killed their friends what's gonna happen."

"I'm more concern about what's going to happen to the rest of this town the longer this thing plays out. I don't see we have much a choice right now, Starsk, other than to play along, at least until we figure out a way to get help or get out of here."

"I have a feeling either isn't gonna be easy. Wish we still at least had our bikes."

As they walked towards the hotel, an elderly man veered off from the group and headed towards a small building.

"Hey, you! Get back over here," one of the beefier bikers said.

But the man just ignored him as if somewhat in a daze.

The biker strode towards him and grabbed the man by the arm. "What are you, deaf or don't understand English, old man?"

The thin man, who appeared to be in his early sixties, looked up in surprise.

"Get back with the rest of the group," he was ordered.

"But I'm expecting a letter from my son," he said in English and pulled out of the biker's grasp, trying to continue on his way.

The biker grabbed the old man again and jerked his arm, making him cringe. "Let me go!" There was confusion and fear in the man's eyes. "Please, I just want to see about my letter. Michael writes me every week."

He tried to tug free again, his agitation growing. The biker become annoyed, and as the man tried to wring out of the hold again, the biker hauled off and slapped the old man across the face.

"Do as I say!"

When his arm came back around to take another swing, Starsky moved foreword and quickly grabbed the biker's forearm. "Hey! Leave him alone! Can't you see he's just an old man?"

Immediately the biker pushed Starsky away.

"Stay out of this!"

Starsky blocked the biker's attempt to hit the man again and was quickly grabbed by two others. The biker advanced on him and Starsky brought his legs defensively up and kick him in the gut.

The biker turned livid. "You're going to pay for that, pig!"

As he moved towards Starsky, Python suddenly appeared, stepping between them. He pushed the angry biker away, then turned and backhanded Starsky across the face.

"What the hell's going on here?'

"The old man was wandering away from the group," the biker spat. "When I tried to bring him back, this one attacked me."

"He's just an old man. He didn't need to be roughed up," Starsky argued back.

From small building, a woman suddenly appeared. When she saw the old man now crumbled on the ground, she quickly ran over to him, protectively covering him.

"Please! Please! Don't hurt him!" she begged.

The elderly man looked up at the woman, tugging on her arm. "Rosa?"

"It's okay, Pape. It's okay." She looked up at Python. "Please. Forgive him," the woman pleaded. "He is just an old man."

"But, Rosa…Michael's letter…"

"Shhhh. Shhhh. Don't worry about it, Pape." The woman tried to explain. "He is just a little confused, from the heat. Please, do not hurt him."

Python looked down at the woman protectively wrapping her arms around the obviously confused man. After a moment, he jerked his head at the woman. "Take him over to the hotel with the rest of them. Make sure doesn't wander off again and stays out of trouble."

The woman nodded, helping the older man to his feet. "Come, Pape. Come with me. I'll get you some water, some food."

"Still need to fix the wagon," he mumbled.

"Yes, Pape. Later. Come. Come." She led him away.

Python turned to Starsky still being restrained. "You're pushing your luck, hero."

Starsky's eyes glittered angrily.

"Don't tempt me, pig. It'll only go worse on the rest of them," he jerked his head towards the small group being herded into the hotel. "Let him go," Python ordered.

Starsky was released, but his body remained stiff, fist clenched tightly.

Hutch read his partner's body language easily and came over to his side. He didn't say anything, but touched his arm lightly. Starsky slowly uncurled his fists.

Python didn't miss the silent exchange between the two before addressing the biker who Starsky had kicked in the gut. "Grab a beer, Sully and cool off, then take some food and water over to the kids over in the church."

"We ain't done here, pig," the biker threatened.

"Go, on. Do like I say," Python ordered.

The biker still clearly angry, nonetheless complied.

The tall man in suede then addressed Hutch. "I have enough on my hands keeping my own men in line. I'd advise you to keep your hot-headed partner in tow." With that Python turned and walked away.

Hutch let out a long sigh.

"Sorry," Starsky mumbled.

"S'kay," Hutch said, placing a hand briefly on Starsky's shoulder. "You just happened to reach him first, partner."

Starsky grinned. "I knew there was a reason I liked ya."

Hutch shook his head. "Come on, Gordo, let's just try and get through the rest of this day before you add any more bruises to your face."

Hutch started walking again with Starsky followed closely next to him. They passed the building the woman had darted out from. It was then Hutch noticed the sign on dusty window that read, "Office de Telephono."

He nudged his partner.

Starsky glanced over and saw it as well.

"Could be our ticket out of here."

"Doesn't look like we're gonna get anywhere near it though, buddy," Starsky remarked as they passed by the small building and saw two bikers camped out nearby lounging under a shade tree.

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The townspeople were gathered together inside the lobby of the hotel, all looking nervously at Python who stood four steps above them, on the stairway that led up to the second floor.

The Sargento, Starsky and Hutch noticed, had also been brought in and was wedged in a corner, between two bikers standing guard.

The two detectives took up a position off to the side near the almost empty dining room as two more bikers entered the hotel and joined their leader.

The Padre was forced to the front of the group.

"Just so we're clear, Holy Man," Python said. "I may be a Greengo and not understand everything you prattle off, but I know enough. And what I don't Miguel and Tito here understand plenty so don't get funny on me, dig?"

The Padre nodded.

"You interpret what I say for those that don't or _choose not to_ _understand_, just like I say it, get it?

The Padre nodded again.

Python's gaze settled on the group of men and women. "I hope all of you had a little time to think things over in your church, time to think real hard, real clear."

He glared at the Padre, who repeated what he said in Spanish.

"You people are hiding a killer, and we don't like that. So we're here to help the Sargento over here find out the truth. Comprende!" His eyes shot up to the Mexican police officer who stood stiffly in a corner.

Python stepped down off his perched and walked slowly around the lobby, his gaze settling on each person in the room as Starsky and Hutch stood listening.

"Two of our friends were murdered, shot down in cold blood."

Eyes darted about, hung nervously, and dropped to the floor as the Padre interpreted for those that did not understand. Both detectives noticed how the sharp, perceptive leader read the room, watching each face closely, not just in the town people, but in his own men who were intently focused on what their leader had to say, how he ran the show.

Python approached the front desk where the hotel owner stood. He tapped the bell soundly on the counter to get the man's attention.

The man jerked.

"Calderon, you found the bodies."

The man's eyes widened, taking an intimidated half step back.

"But my husband wasn't alone," a woman spoke quickly. "Father Francisco was with him."

Mrs. Calderon glanced fearfully from her husband to Python, to the rest standing silent, clutching her dress, before her eyes finally sought out the Padre.

"I found their motor-sickle," someone else interrupted and all eyes turned away from Calderon's wife to the old man who had wandered off from the group earlier.

He got unsteadily to his feet from a stool he'd been perched on. "In the dirt, down the road from my house," he said. "Does that make me guilty, too?" His eyes darted about, not quite focused. "My son, he wanted one of those things," he mumbled. "But I told him they were too dangerous, too loud." He looked up as Rosa quickly moved to his side. "I got him a bike instead. A nice shinny blue one." The old man smiled as he rambled on. "He liked it."

Several bikers started to laugh, sneer.

Rosa saw Python's scowl and firmly patted the old man's arm for him to be silent.

"Sit down, old man," the biker leader told him.

The old man looked up, frightened, confused.

"Sit down, I said."

Rosa forced the old man back down on the stool.

Python glanced around the room to the group whose eyes wouldn't quite raise to meet his, who huddled close together, while his men stood angrily at their continued silence.

"Nobody's leaving until someone talks!"

Python walked over to Starsky. "You, Hero. Grab that sombrero off the wall over there. Gather up everyone's keys."

Glancing about the room, Starsky moved forward and slowly took the sombrero off the wall. Hutch watched as his partner rounded the room collecting everyone's keys.

When he got to Calderon still standing behind the counter, the man nervously fumbled and ended up dropping the keys on the floor. As he went to pick them up, from where Hutch was positioned near the edge of the reception desk, he noticed Calderon quickly pull a key off the ring and hide it in his pocket before standing up and adding his set of keys to the stack.

The Padre was the last, depositing his keys into the straw hat with a thin, grim line on his face.

Starsky handed the hat over the Python, who then walked over to the Sargento, jiggling it under the policeman's face. "There, now, Sargento. No problem with traffic today."

The Sargento merely glared at him.

Python handed the hat to one of his men. "Spits, make sure all the bikes and cars are locked up, just so no one gets any notions that they are going to leave here until we get the answers were looking for."

He then started to circle the room again.

"Now, one by one, each of you is going to tell me what you know about what happened to our friends. Right here in front of everyone else, even if this takes all day. And I think we'll start right here with the Padre."

The Father was grabbed and drawn into the center of the room.

"This was all brought out already at the inquest," the Sargento interrupted. "These people know nothing. Why can't you leave them alone! They had nothing to do with what happened to your friends!"

"Shut up, pig. You had your chance, now it's our turn! And I can guarantee all of you here that we either get the truth or this stinkin' little town is going to be to nothing but ashes!"

Python faced the Father. "Well, Padre?"

The Padre's mouth was a thin line of anger and fear. "It is as the Sargento says. Senor Calderon found the bodies and came and got me. He had nothing more to do with it than any of the rest of us!"

Python spun about, his eyes homing in on Mrs. Calderon. "That's not what you said, Mrs. Calderon. _You_ said your husband and the Padre found the bodies _together_."

Her face turned white. She looked to her husband. The hotel clerk shrank back, paling as Python stepped over to him.

"S-she meant that the Padre and I reported finding them to the policia together. I found the bodies in the cemetery and I woke the Padre up," Calderon said slowly, trying to clarify. "But I did _not _kill anyone, I swear! I am a God fearing man!"

"It ain't God you need to fear right now, Calderon, if you're lying," Python said.

Starsky and Hutch watched as several of the bikers nodded their heads, their eyes hardening, causing the clerk to quiver, his eyes nervously darting about.

"What were you doing in the cemetery?" Python continued.

"I-I was just taking a walk," Calderon replied.

"Taking a walk. In a cemetery? That's an odd place to take a stroll in the middle of the night."

"I-I have trouble sleeping sometimes. I find it peaceful there." He gulped, then added. "My father, he is buried there," he tried to explain." He looked down at his hands. "Sometimes I go to visit his grave."

"What he say is true!" a young lanky man of about eighteen stepped forward. He was nervous and scared. "_Mia padre_, he has much trouble sleeping. He takes many walks. Ask them, ask any, they will tell you!" His voice cracked in fear, then cringed as one of the bikers took a step towards him.

Mrs. Calderon pulled her son close to her, fear showing on her face before her gaze dropped nervously away.

Python turned to the Sargento. "According to your official inquest, Sargento, what time were Jessie and Carla killed?"

"There is no way to be so exact. We can only estimate these things," the Sargento argued.

"Then give us your _official _estimation."

The Sargento's mouth thinned. "To the best of our ability to determine, your friends were killed between eleven p.m. and one in the morning."

Python turned back to Calderon. "Between eleven and one. Right smack dab in the middle of your little walk through the cemetery."

"I am telling you the truth!" Calderon defended himself nervously. "I-I swear on the Holy Bible, I did not kill your friends…I only found them!"

"And you didn't see anything, hear anything either, I suppose?"

Calderon's dropped his eyes to the floor, swallowing. "No. I did not."

The bikers about the room angrily settled their gaze on the clerk.

"I don't like the direction this is going," Hutch said to his partner in a low voice.

"No kidding. What are we gonna do?" Starsky asked.

"We need to get help somehow."

"Got any ideas?"

Hutch thought. "Sure like to get a look into that telephone office."

Starsky glanced behind them, cocking his head slightly. "Back kitchen door?"

There was one biker standing in their way, the rest were grouped around the lobby, listening intently to Python.

"We need a distraction that won't draw attention from the rest of them," Hutch said.

From behind them, Hutch felt a light touch to his arm that startled him. He looked down and saw Rosita, Calderon's daughter, standing next to him. She put her finger to her lips and then a second later she moved away, into the dining room.

Hutch nudged his partner.

Rosita approached the biker guarding the back door.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Please, I was told to bring some blankets over to the church, for the children…and some Tequila."

"Oh yeah? By who?"

"I do not know his name. He has a shaved head with a skull tattoo on his arm. They are in the storage room. Please, I do not wish to get into trouble but I cannot reach the Tequila." The girl glanced nervously towards Python and the rest of the bikers, wringing her hands.

The biker regarded her momentarily.

"Tequila, ah?"

"Si, o-our private stock."

"Where's this storage room?"

"It is just here, at the end of the hall." She pointed to a door just off to the side.

The biker regarded the young woman for several long hard seconds before nodding.

Grateful, she escorted him down the short hall.

Starsky and Hutch had already backed away from the crowd. As soon as Rosita led the biker down the hall, Starsky nudged Hutch.

Hutch ducked into the dining room and quickly crossed until he was behind the bar. From his vantage point he could see into the hall. The biker had turned and was facing towards them. Hutch held up his hand, motioning for Starsky to wait.

Rosita moved to block his view, and then pointed to something back in the closet. As soon as the biker turned his back to them, Hutch signaled to Starsky, who quickly followed.

The two slipped through the kitchen and out the back door. Both knew they wouldn't have much time before they were discovered missing.

They moved around the back side of the buildings until they reached a point where they had to cross the street. Luckily most of the bikers were inside the hotel. They slid up alongside the building and Hutch peered out around the corner.

The two bikers by the telephone office were still there, sitting out of the hot sun under a couple of shade trees. Both, however, had their eyes closed and appeared to be napping from the heat.

Hutch looked around. Unfortunately there wasn't much in the way of cover between them and the telephone office. They would just have to chance a dash across the street and hop neither woke up.

Starsky took the lead and quickly crossed the distance in a flash of denim. Hutch followed a little slower, wincing a bit from his sore leg. They reached the side of the building and hugged the wall. Starsky crouched down on one knee and peeked around the corner before ducking back and giving Hutch a thumb's up.

While Starsky stood guard, Hutch went to the side window, which he found already open. He used a small wooden crate to boost himself quietly up and in.

He expected Starsky to follow, but suddenly his partner ducked out of sight as he heard the rev of a motorcycle coming down the street. Hutch dropped out of view of the window, sensing, more than seeing his partner had been forced to move around to the back of the building out of sight.

Staying low, he crossed to the other side of the room and peeked out the other side window to see Lonnie on the modified Harley pulling up next to the two other bikers who had been napping, but were now fully awake.

He couldn't hear what they said, but for the moment looked like they were staying put. For how long, Hutch didn't know, so he'd have to work fast.

Still in a crouched position, the tall cop moved quickly over to the old fashion looking switchboard and examined it, trying to figure out how it worked.

He plugged in one of the pegs into the control board, picked up the headset to listen, but couldn't get a connection, no tone, not even static. He clicked the power button on and off, tried to move the peg into several more positions with the same results. It was then he noticed nothing on the board was lighting either. He searched for the cord, found it and quickly moved his fingers down its length until he discovered the frayed ends.

The main power cord had been cut.

_Damn!_

Footsteps on the wooden porch made Hutch quickly duck down out of sight. Unfortunately there wasn't a whole lot of hiding places in the small room. The door started to open, but a second later he heard a shout and the rev of an engine. The door closed abruptly followed by booted feet running across the wooden planks.

Hutch hurried over and peeked out the window just in time to see his partner running down the street, with Lonnie on the modified Harley quickly closing the distance.

As Starsky tried to veer off the road, Lonnie's foot came out as he zoomed passed, catching his partner in the lower back. The momentum threw Starsky against a parked car and as Hutch watched the curly haired man bounced off the side panel and then crumpled to the ground. A few seconds later the two other bikers were on top of him.

Dragging the now limp figure between them, they headed back towards the hotel.

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Starsky moaned as his body was dragged and then dumped, rather unceremoniously, in the dirt. He struggled to his knees as Python came out of the hotel, alerted by the commotion and Lonnie's shout. By the look on Python's face, he knew the biker leader was pissed.

As soon as Hutch had slipped through the window into the telephone office, Starsky had heard the distinguishing sound of the Harley coming down the dirt road and had just enough time to duck out of sight before he saw the glint of metal rounding the bend.

Lonnie had pulled up in front of the telephone office, waking the two bikers napping. "Where's everyone?" the young biker had demanded.

"Over at the hotel. Python and the townspeople too. Man I hope this thing isn't going to drag out too much longer. I'm really starting to hate this stickin' little town."

"Then you can help me burn it down to the ground before we leave here," Lonnie sneered.

Suddenly a couple bikers had come out of the hotel. One had made a bee line towards them. "The two cops. They disappeared. Python wants them found."

Starsky at this point had made his way around the back of the building and was observing the small group.

"Start checking the buildings. They couldn't have gotten far," Lonnie ordered.

When the two bikers stood up and had started making their way towards the telephone office, Starsky knew he needed to draw them away from his partner.

He had ducked low, moving around the edge of the building, then behind a couple of parked bikes. Thinking fast, he had picked up a small rock and chucked it at one of the bikers and ducked back down.

"Hey!" The biker had spun around.

The other biker, already on the porch, had started turning the door knob. Starsky had picked up another rock and threw it across the street. It had made a loud pinging thump against a parked car.

The two bikers had turned in the direction of the sound.

Starsky had moved quickly then, down the street and a second later he had heard a shout then the rev of a cycle. He had glanced back in time to see the modified Harley quickly closing the distance and had taken off in a full sprint, away from his partner, trying to buy Hutch some time, intending to cut around the corner, loose them and double back.

Unfortunately the sudden impact of a foot in his back a few seconds later had thwarted his plans.

Now the curly haired cop was being hauled to his feet by Lonnie and another biker, to face Python who stood on the raised porch.

"Found him trying to run out of town," Lonnie said as he twisted Starsky's arm behind his back.

The biker leader angrily scowled down at the cop. "Where's your partner?" he demanded.

"Around," Starsky said stubbornly.

Lonnie grabbed a chunk of the curly hair, pulling the cop's head painfully back. Anger lit Starsky's eyes, but he stubbornly kept his mouth clamped shut.

Python turned to a few of his men. "Find the other one! He couldn't have gotten far, not without wheels."

He faced Starsky again. "You think I'm just playing games here, pig?"

Starsky's silence only infuriated the leader more.

A few of the townspeople craned their necks outside the hotel to see what the commotion was about. Python glanced at them, his jaw clenching before turning back to the curly haired cop.

"Maybe it's time you understood just how serious I am. Maybe it's time _all of you_ understand."

"Spits, Santo. Bring them all outside."

The townspeople were herded out onto the hotel's porch. They huddled anxiously as Python addressed them.

"We want a murderer. And so far none of you have given us a name, only more stories and silence. We'll maybe this will make all of you think a little more, jar a little more of your memories." Python turned to his men. "Lonnie, show them how we deal with _trouble makers_ and those that just want to play games!"

Lonnie smiled in pleasure. He pushed the cop into the hold of two other bikers before climbing back on the Harley. A few minutes later Lonnie and seven other bikers formed a ring in the middle of the wide street and began circling one another with their cycles.

Python stood before Starsky, eyes icy. "One last time, pig. Where is your partner?"

"I don't know."

"You don't make this easy do you?"

With a firm nod from the biker leader, Starsky was thrown into the center of the pack of circling bikes.

The dark haired cop spun his head about, watching as the bikers revved their engines, picking up speed, and kicking up dust.

Lonnie was the first to break formation, entering the circle and aiming the Harley right at Starsky.

The cop quickly jumped to one side as the Harley whizzed passed. Lonnie turned sharply before reaching the outer circle, the back tire throwing dirt up in the air. He smiled as he aimed the cycle at Starsky once more.

Starsky moved quickly away from the center of the circle, dodging Lonnie as the cycle swept passed again. But another biker suddenly veered inward from the circling pack and forced him back into the center of the ring. Starsky nearly stumbled in his haste to avoid the front wheel of the bike from ramming him in the legs.

He had little time to think as another biker broke formation, heading straight towards him. This time Starsky had to quickly put a hand out and back up. Lonnie came at him again from the rear, the Harley's handlebars clipping Starsky in the ribs, spinning him about.

The momentum sent Starsky to the ground as the other biker came about and headed for him again.

Starsky had no time to get to his feet and had to roll his body quickly out of the way as the cycle zipped passed.

Panting, he got back up to his feet, body and head twisting about trying to keep track of all the bikers circling him.

Another broke formation and raced towards him, forcing him to run, and then veer sharply to the right, stumbling. Laughter broke out in the group as Starsky fell to one knee. Another biker shot towards him, forcing Starsky to dive out of the way once again.

Covered in dust and sweat, Starsky scrambled back to his feet, panting. He was starting to feel disoriented as the bikers continued circling him, loudly revving their engines, while the rest jeered from the sidelines.

Lonnie raced towards him again. At the same time the other biker spun about, this time welding a chain. As Lonnie passed, forcing Starsky to move quickly back, the other biker swung the heavy chain and caught Starsky about in the ribs.

Searing white hot pain forced the curly haired man to the ground again, knocking the wind right out of him. The pain cause spots to swim in front of his eyes as he clutched his side and tried to roll over, knowing he had to get back up, but his body refused to co-operate.

More laughter and cheering could be heard, but it was now coming through a fuzzy pain laced funnel. The bikers circling took on a distorted appearance, like some freakish fun house as Starsky gasped for air.

With effort, he forced himself back up to his feet, but he was staggering. He didn't see the biker coming at him once again until he felt the stinging pain of the chain wrapping around his lower legs this time, jerking his feet out from beneath him as the biker zoomed passed.

Starsky landed awkwardly on his bruised ribs and this time he couldn't get back up, the chain still tangled about his legs.

Lonnie spun the Harley about, sneering in pleasure at the downed and injured cop. He gunned the powerful engine again, watching the cop struggling anxiously to free his legs.

He aimed the Harley at him once more, but this time, instead of speeding passed, he brought the bike up short, the front wheel coming within inches of running over Starsky.

Lonnie laughed, revving the cycle loudly, then proceeded to jerk the bike forward a few inches at a time, forcing Starsky to painfully log roll in the dirt to prevent the bike from rolling over the top of him. The tire hit his side, forcing another pain filled groan out of his mouth as he rolled his body away, chocking on the dust.

Only when he heard Python's shout as he entered the circle did Lonnie finally cease his advance, leaving Starsky practically wedged under the front wheel of the Harley, panting and in pain.

Starsky legs were freed of their entanglement as he was hauled back to his feet. His legs stung hotly and were shaking badly. He coughed from the dust kicked up then hissed in pain from his sore ribs. He probably would have fallen back on his knees had he not been propped up by two bikers on each side of him and was only vaguely away of Python speaking.

"All right everyone back inside," the biker leader ordered. "Let's see now if any of this has helped your memories. Let's go!"

As the group of frightened townspeople were herded back inside, the old man hung back staring at Starsky with a confused, anxious look on his face. He then started to wander away again from the hotel, mumbling.

He was grabbed by Python. "Old man. What game are you playing at now?"

The old man suddenly looked up, confused and suddenly became very agitated. "You got no business here! Just go away." He tried to pull away from Python, mumbling once again. "All this noise, so loud. Got to get back to my son. He's sick!"

Python scowled and Rosa quickly made her way to the old man's side.

"Supposed to rest. Told him not to go out without his sweater. He's a good boy, but never likes to keep his sweater on," the old man rambled on.

"Old man. You're really starting to get on my nerves," Python threatened.

"Please," Rosa said quickly. "He is harmless. It is the heat and he has been ill. He just needs to lie down. Please, let me take him home so he will not bother you."

Python glared at the Mexican woman. "Where does he live?"

"Just across the road. Please. He can not go anywhere."

"All right. Take him and come back. No tricks! If we need him, we know where to find him."

"Si," Rosa nodded quickly, pulling the old man with her. "Come, Pape."

"My boy's wagon," he continued to ramble as was led away. "Gotta fix it. You think Michael will wake up soon?"

Lonnie shook his head. "Crazy old coot!"

"Looks like more than a wagon is broke in that loon!" One of the bikers agreed, chuckling.

"Enough!" Python snapped, his patience coming to an end. "This isn't a game. The rest of you, back inside!" The biker leader grabbed the Padre by his forearm. "You better talk to them, Holy Man. Set them straight or we come back outside again and _this_ time it will be one of you!"

The Padre's face paled. The hotel owner looked at his wife and shook his head silently. At the back of the small group of onlookers, Calderon's daughter huddled close to a young Mexican man, who stood with fists clenched.

"What do you want us to do with him?" One of the bikers asked, referring to Starsky, who was trying to remain standing despite the burning pain in his ribs. "Should we throw him back in jail?"

"No," the biker leader replied. "Bring him inside. Let them all get a _good look_ at him. Let them all understand we mean business!"

Starsky was dragged back inside the hotel.

~S/H~

From his hiding place, Hutch had watched the whole scene in horror as his partner was forced to dodge the cycles. He'd almost ran out from his hiding place when he saw his partner struck in the side with the chain and again when Lonnie had nearly tried to run him over. Afterwards, by the way Starsky was holding onto his ribs, he knew his partner was hurt, but hopefully not too severely.

As much as Hutch wanted to run to his aid, he knew Starsky had deliberately drawn them away to give him a chance to get help. The situation was escalating at a dangerous rate and despite Hutch's concerns for his partner's safety, he knew his priority right now was to get help. But with the switchboard lines cut, Hutch needed find another way, and fast, before they found him.

Suddenly he saw two bikers coming down the street right towards him, forcing Hutch to retreat between two buildings, only to stop short and duck down as another biker appeared around the corner of building, essentially trapping him in the alleyway. Thinking fast, Hutch pushed open the nearest door he could find and slipped inside.

The woman standing in the middle of the room gasped as the tall blond suddenly appeared. Hutch quickly crossed the distance and clamped his hand over her mouth, dragging her back behind the door.

~S/H~

Captain Dobey was just finishing up the last of his paperwork on his desk trying to keep his promise to his wife he'd only have to work part of Saturday and would be home by five.

It was his son, Cal's, birthday, and his wife Edith had planned a family dinner that also included a few close friends and his wife's sister and family. His sixteen year old son had grumbled a bit, but Dobey had reminded him that family was important and he could afford to at least put on a good face at the effort his mother was making to prepare Cal his favorite food for his birthday, which so happened to be one of Dobey's favorites as well, barbequed spare ribs with greens. Edith's sister was also bringing her famous sweet potato pie. Dobey's mouth was already watering at the idea when the phone rang on his desk.

He looked at the clock, grabbed the phone and gruffly spoke into it. "Dobey, here!"

He was surprised when was told he had a long distance phone call from San Carlos. As the call was patched through, Dobey's brows drew heavily down, suddenly getting a bad feeling.

It was Judge Juarez, who was calling more than a bit irritated that he had not received the extradition papers on Martinez yet. The two detectives had failed to show up for their three o'clock appointment. He called to inquire if there had been a change in plans.

"No, they left early this morning, right after picking up the papers from the District Attorney. They informed me about the reschedule and told me it wouldn't be a problem to meet you at three."

It was almost four-thirty now and Judge Juarez had to leave, informing Dobey, rather haughtily, that he wouldn't back until Monday morning.

After Dobey hung up with the irritated judge, he leaned grumpily back in his chair. Somehow he just knew those two were up to no good! Probably out on some isolated back road having a damn good time for themselves forgetting their priorities!

With his annoyance increasing, Dobey picked up the phone and dialed the Pits. He remembered Starsky and Hutch mentioning Huggy had arranged a place for them to stay with some relative of his down in San Carlos.

With the thought of missing out on mouth watering ribs and sweet potato pie, his anger grew.

"You two better damn well be enjoying yourselves now, because when I get a hold of you, traffic duty for the next month is going to be the least of your troubles!" Dobey groused, trying to hide his worry in anger instead.

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

As footsteps passed by the closed door, Hutch kept his hand firmly clamped over the young Mexican woman's mouth, drawing her back away from the window, his other arm holding her steadfastly about the waist.

Only when they faded did he loosen his grip as he whispered in her ear. "I'm going to let you go, but please don't scream, okay?"

The woman's eyes were wide but she nodded.

Hutch slowly released her. She quickly moved away from him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," he apologized, recognizing the woman as the same one he'd seen earlier who had come to the aid of the old man.

She nervously gripped the front on her dress.

Hutch tried to calm her, reassure her. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She nodded, but kept her distance. "W-what are you doing here?"

Hutch peeked out the window, then drew the blind down. He then moved over to the front window and did the same. "At the moment, just trying to keep from getting caught."

The young woman glanced anxiously about. "Please. You cannot stay here," she insisted. "I do not wish any more trouble."

"I'm sorry, lady, I don't have much of a choice at the moment."

From a back room Hutch heard someone calling out. "Michael? Michael? Is that you?"

The woman's eyes darted across the room. She immediately headed for the door left ajar. Hutch reached for her, grabbed her by the wrist.

"Let me go!" she hissed angrily. She wrenched free of his grasp and quickly disappeared into the back room. Hutch followed but paused at the door when he saw the old man lying on the bed.

"Michael? Is that Michael I hear?" Hutch heard the weak voice asking.

"No, Pape," she replied softly. "You are just dreaming."

"Was supposed to be home by now," he mumbled. "Don't like him to miss lunch."

"Go back to sleep, Pape."

"Need to remind him not to leave his wagon out front in the street. Always forgets."

"Shhhh. Just rest."

Hutch heard some incoherent mumbling before the young woman finally came back out several minutes later, quietly closing the door behind her.

She looked up at Hutch, her eyes anxious. "Just go, please!" she implored.

"I would if I could, believe me, but at the moment I've got whole bunch of angry bikers looking for me."

The Mexican woman suddenly reeled on him. "Oh, why can't all of you, all of _them_, just leave us alone!"

Hutch crossed the room. "Look, lady, I'm the _good_ guy here. I'm just trying to get all of you some help before all hell breaks loose."

The young woman crossed her arms, not able to keep the tremble from them. She bowed her head. "I know. I am sorry. It is just…" Hutch followed her worried glance to the closed door.

"It's okay. I didn't mean to scare you or upset you or your father either."

She looked back at him. "He is not my father."

Hutch regarded her statement curiously.

"But like one," she replied softly. "He helped raise me," she offered as an explanation. She raked her fingers through her long hair.

"Is he okay?"

"_Si_. Just very tired. The heat, and he has not been well for many weeks."

"I'm sorry." Hutch paused, then remembered something. "Your name is Rosa, right?"

She nodded.

"You work in the telephone office, correct?" Hutch asked.

"_Si_."

"Rosa, I need your help."

Her eyes widened. "What can I do?"

"I need to find someway to call for help."

"It is no use. As soon as they came into town this morning, they cut the lines on the switchboard."

"I know. But is there another way to call out of here, I mean, besides the switchboard?"

She shook her head. "No. We are a very small town. All the calls that come in must go through the switchboard first."

Hutch was afraid of that. He thought. "Do you have a car then? Some means of transportation?"

She shook her head again. "No. I am sorry."

"What about the old man?"

"No, senor. He has not driven in many years. Even if we did, they took all our keys."

Hutch cursed, raking his fingers through his blond hair. He would have to find another way to get help then. "Is there another town then, close to here, besides, San Carlos? One I could walk or run to?"

"No. San Carlos is the closest."

Hutch cursed.

"I'm sorry, I wish I could be of more help."

Hutch sighed. "It's okay. It's not your fault."

Hearing a sudden noise, he limped over to the window again and peeked out, but all remained quiet. He rechecked the front window. From his vantage point he could see two bikers just down and across the street, standing on a veranda near the hotel. Another biker was perched on one of several bikes parked in a row, talking to a fourth biker. Hutch couldn't see anything else, but it appeared quiet.

"You are hurt?" Rosa asked him.

"Huh?" Hutch replied.

She pointed down to the crimson stained patch on his pant leg. "Your leg? You have hurt your leg?"

Hutch looked down at it, having almost forgotten about the constant throbbing ache. "It's nothing, just a scrap."

"Please, senor. Let me look at it. It is the least I can do."

Hutch regarded her momentarily but eventually nodded. She indicated for him to sit down. Hutch limped over to a straight back chair and eased himself down. He lifted his pant leg, wincing as he looked down at his leg, which appeared a little more swollen than before, the bandana digging into his flesh around the angry bruise.

"I think more than a scrap, senor. It should be cleaned," Rosa said.

With a determined look, she went over to a cabinet in the kitchen and retrieved a box of supplies, a bowl of water and some clean cloths. She knelt down on the floor next to him. Removing the blood encrusted bandana, she proceeded to clean the laceration, her touch remarkably gentle, though Hutch still winced a bit. When she was done, she applied an ointment and redressed the wound in a fresh gauze and wrapped it with remarkable ease.

"Looks like you've done this stuff before," Hutch said, smiling slightly.

Rosa nodded. "Some."

He let his pant leg slide back down. "Thanks. It feels a lot better."

She blushed slightly, then gathered up her supplies. Replacing them back in the cabinet, she then washed her hands. Her face suddenly held great concern. "Your friend. I saw what they did to him. I am so sorry." Her voice suddenly became angry. "They are all crazy! They ride in here like they own us! Take over our town. Accuse us of murdering their friends in cold blood! They know nothing!"

"In their eyes they think all of you are hiding a murderer."

Rosa paled. A myriad of emotions seemed to wash over her face in an instant. "Is that what you think too, senor?" she asked, almost accusingly.

"No, of course not," Hutch replied.

Rosa suddenly sat down on one of the straight back chairs, putting her hands to her face. "I am sorry. I did not mean to yell at you."

Hutch, still sitting, reached over and gently placed a hand on her forearm. "It's okay. I understand."

She looked up at him with a little smile. "I am sorry. I don't even know your name, senor."

"It's Hutch."

"And your friend?"

"His name's David. David Starsky."

"He tried to help Pape, earlier. To stop that man from hitting him. He is very brave."

"That's my partner, all right," Hutch smiled. _Brave and stubborn and bullheaded. That was his partner, all right. The first to jump in on an uneven fight, the first to stand up to a bully. _

"Are…are you really policia?" she then asked.

"Yes. We're detectives from Bay City."

"Detectives? Did the Sargento send for you, then? D-did he learn something about those two poor people killed?" Rosa asked, her voice quivering.

"No. My friend and I just came down here on vacation. Dirt bike riding. I'm afraid we just stumbled right into the middle of this." Hutch learned forward in the chair. "Rosa, what can you tell me about that night, the night their friends were found?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I don't know. Maybe there's something, someway I can help."

She shrugged. "It is as the Sargento said. Their bodies were just found."

"But did you hear anything? See anything that night?"

Rosa eyes dropped away as if uncomfortable with his stare. She shook her head. "No. I was with Pape that night."

Hutch thought. "The old man. He said he found their motorcycle. Where?"

"He is confused, senor. He saw nothing that night. He only repeated what others had said."

Hutch frowned. "Are you sure?"

"_Si_. I was with him the whole night." Rosa stood up abruptly and turned her back to him, only to stand staring at something propped in the corner of the small room. Hutch followed her stare and noticed a small, bright red, wooden wagon, a child's toy, propped it the corner, the wooden slats broken, one axel bent. Her voice suddenly became very thick, sad. "The same night his son died."

"Died?" Hutch said with some surprise.

"_Si_. His son had been sick for many weeks." She reached down and picked up a piece of the wagon. "It was Micheal's favorite toy. It has been broken a long time now. He keeps meaning to fix it."

Hutch looked at the broken child's wagon, something not quite adding up.

"I'm sorry. I'm a little confused. I don't mean to sound rude, but the old man seems, um, a bit, old to have a young son."

Rosa turned back to him, smiling a little. "Michael was different. Though he was an adult, in his mind he was forever a child. When Michael died, Pape, part of him, died with him. Since then his mind has become lost in his grief. He still thinks his son is alive and is waiting for him to come back home."

"I'm sorry."

Again she looked to the closed door. "Pape has been more of a father to me than my own, but Michael, Michael was the world to him." She looked to Hutch, her arms tightening about her waist. "He has been through enough. He is just a sick, frail, old man, but now _these_ men... they come, on their motorcycles, terrorizing us all." The frightened woman was visibly trembling. "And we can do nothing to stop them!"

Hutch reached out to her, touching her lightly on the arm once again, trying to offer comfort. "Rosa, don't give up. We just need to find another way to get help."

"I do not know how," she replied forlornly.

"Think. There must be something."

The woman shrugged helplessly. "There is no way to escape."

~S/H~

Dobey got off the phone with Huggy after Huggy had called him back to say Starsky and Hutch hadn't check in with his cousin in San Carlos yet, but wasn't terribly worried, citing the two detectives had probably lost track of time having too much fun.

Dobey wanted to believe that as well, but his cop instinct wasn't buying it completely. He knew Starsky and Hutch played it a little wild at times, and on occasion tried to pull the wool over his eyes, but he didn't think they would flippantly miss the appointment with Judge Juarez. Both detectives wanted to see Martinez extradited back to the States just as much as the D.A.'s office to stand trial for the brutal rape and murder of a young woman. They wouldn't blatantly jeopardize their chance to get the man back while he was still in the custody of Mexican authorities.

Huggy's cousin had given them the name of the Captain of the local police in San Carlos.

After making another call to his wife Edith to say he would be late, Dobey put in another call to San Carlos. Unfortunately, being a Saturday, the Captain was not in, and he had to speak with the local Sergeant, who unfortunately didn't speak much English. It took the large black man the better part of an hour to finally get the man to understand between the language barrier and the crappy connection. The Sergeant promised to let his captain know and to keep on the look out for the two detectives.

With little more he could do at the moment, Dobey headed home, but left word to have dispatch call him immediately as soon as the two detectives checked in.

~S/H~

Inside the hotel, the townspeople had been herded into the dining room and forced to sit down, all except for the Sargento who was dragged away to be put back in jail.

The biker leader grabbed the Padre's arm, threatening him again, before he left the townspeople under guard to sit and "think" a little more before turning and abruptly disappearing with a few of his men.

The group of frightened eyes turned downward or away from the injured detective slumped on the floor in a corner where he had more or less been shoved.

Covered in dust and sweat, a hand pressed to his side, Starksy tried to push himself up into a sitting position. A pair of booted feet appeared before him and as Starsky looked up, he saw Lonnie towering above him. Behind him the other biker, the one he had kick in the stomach earlier, stood.

"We're not through with you yet, pig, not by a long shot!" Lonnie sneered.

Before he could react, the flash of booted leather was followed by a hard impact into his stomach. The contact slammed him against the wall. Starsky doubled over, curling his body inward in pain before falling into a broken heap on the floor.

TBC...


	8. Chapter 8

Just a repost of the chapter to correct a few errors and tighten it up...chapter 9 will be posted as soon as fanfic will allow me to upload the file (currently giving me some issues)

**Chapter 8**

The congregation of frightened, wary faces sat stiffly in their seats as Lonnie stood over Starsky doubled up on the floor.

Sully reached down and grabbed a fist full of dark curls, yanking Starsky's head back, grinning. "Next round is all mine, pig, just you wait," he sneered, laughing as he shoved Starsky's head roughly back against the floor eliciting an angry groan from the cop.

Both bikers rose, smiling smugly as their gazes caught the doe eyed shocked stares of the townspeople who had witnessed the scene.

Lonnie stepped over to the hotel owner who stood rigidly, his back pressed up against the counter that separated the dining area from the kitchen, smiling as he watched Calderon visibly flinch under his scrutiny. Calderon gripped the counter behind him to steady his frayed nerves making Lonnie's mouth curl even more until the thin man's eyes finally dropped down and looked away.

Snickering, the two bikers retreated from the dining room. Once out of sight, Calderon's fists clenched angrily at his sides, his nostrils flaring. He turned his head to look at Starsky still on the floor, sucking in breaths as he struggled to get back up onto his knees.

No one in the room made a move to help. Too frightened, they sat rooted in place uncomfortably aware of the three bikers still left behind standing guard.

Across the room, the young waitress' anger finally overcame her fear and she made a move towards Starsky, but Calderon held his hand firmly up, silently forbidding his daughter to interfere. A young Mexican immediately reached out and tugged the young girl protectively back to his side with quick words spoken in Spanish.

With his head pressed against the floor attempting to draw his knees up, Starsky was unaware of the silent confrontation going on between the hotel owner and his daughter. His ribs were on fire and back of his legs stung with hot needles of pain from where the chain had struck him, but Starsky stubbornly refused to give into either.

Watching Starsky struggling into a sitting position, Calderon reluctantly moved away from the counter and knelt down next to him, his jaw angrily clenched.

"Are you all right?" The question came out clipped.

Starsky groaned as he sucked in a breath, supporting his bruised side with the splayed fingers of one hand, his head pounding now on top of everything else. "Just terrific," he panted. His face scrunched up as he shifted his butt on the floor. "No offense, but I'm beginning to hate this stinkin' little town."

Calderon's voice was harsh. "You and your friend have caused much trouble here."

Starsky threw the hooked nosed man a heated glare. "Hey, we didn't start this. My partner and I were only trying to help."

"All you and your fried have succeeding in doing, senor, is to anger them more," the man retorted in an angry whisper.

"Better than to stand around and do nothin'" Starsky groused back, then hissed once more as he tried to shift into a semi comfortable position, bringing one knee up to take the strain off his sore ribs.

Seeing the pain on the cop's face, some of Calderon's anger left him. "Is there anything broken?"

"Other than my continual pride, I don't think so," Starsky muttered.

Truth be told, his ribs and the back of his legs hurt like hell and, though he didn't think he busted anything, he did wonder if he may have of cracked a rib or two.

"Your forehead is bleeding."

"Is it?" Starsky reached up, touched his fingers to his head. A spot of crimson coated his fingertips. It was followed by a slight sting. "How'd I get that?"

He surmised he must have gotten it when Lonnie had kicked him down in the dirt while he'd been trying to draw attention away from Hutch, or when he had tried to avoid getting run over by the bikers. It would certainly explain the pounding headache he was now sporting, or maybe that was just the added bonus of Sully slamming his head into the floor.

"Don't suppose ya got an aspirin on ya?" Starsky mused.

The young waitress suddenly appeared next to them, much to her father's displeasure. Calderon grabbed Rosita by the forearm, said something clipped to her in Spanish which only elicited another stubborn shake of her head as she wrenched free. Starsky didn't need to understand Spanish to understand the body language between the pair, which clearly indicated Calderon did not want his daughter getting involved.

Ignoring her father's disapproval, she knelt beside them, offering a pitcher of water and a clean cloth. Calderon reluctantly accepted it. Wetting the cloth, he dabbed it against Starsky's forehead, making the cop wince slightly.

"It is not bad, just a small bump and a cut," Calderon said after a careful exam of the cut.

"Terrific. I'll just add it to the rest of my collection I've got going at the moment."

Starsky coughed, and then realized his mouth felt like the Sahara desert, the taste of dirt coating his tongue, his throat parched.

Calderon offered him some water. Starsky drank it gratefully.

"Thanks."

In a low voice, aware of the guards posted nearby, Rosita asked. "Your friend. Where is he? Did he get help?"

Starsky glanced up at the girl, reading her concern which was matching his own for Hutch right about now. Although he hadn't expected such a violent turn of events, he still hoped his little diversion had given Hutch the needed time to call for help and then get the hell out of there.

He shrugged slightly. "Wish I knew. Unfortunately we got separated."

Rosita looked worriedly up at her father who appeared like he was barely holding it together. She put a hand on her father's arm, patting it reassuringly. Calderon smiled slightly before covering his daughter's hand, trying to reassure her, before his face suddenly tensed up. Starsky followed Calderon's line of vision to see one of the bikers guarding the group openly leering at the young woman.

Calderon spoke again to his daughter in Spanish. Rosita said something back, shook her head defiantly but Calderon's clipped response cut her off. His daughter's eyes dropped, almost hurtful, before she gathered up the pitcher and cloth and scooted away, back to the protective fold of her mother's side. Her brother and the other young Mexican huddled close to her and Starsky didn't miss the accusing glare that came from the young Mexican who appeared to be a few years older than Rosita.

The biker just smiled at their reaction and Starsky could feel the anger growing in Calderon once again and understood, remembering the way the biker had grabbed the girl earlier leaving bruises on her wrists.

Calderon went to stand up, but Starsky's hand suddenly reached out, clutching his forearm stopping his retreat. In a low whisper that could only be heard between the two of them, Starsky asked. "What are you going to do with that key, Calderon?"

The hotel owner visible startled, his face paling.

Hutch hadn't been the only one who'd seen the hotel owner slip something into his pocket while Starsky had been collecting all the keys earlier. Starsky had seen it too.

Calderon jerked his arm angrily away and retreated back to his position at the counter. Starsky watched as the hotel owner's eyes lifted across the room to his nervous wife, the two silently communicating something between them. Starsky frowned, wondering what that was all about.

Left to sit awkwardly on the floor, Starsky nursed his bruises and tried to assess his current situation. It didn't take a genius however to come to the quick conclusion he was in one hell of a mess.

_So much for a fun little weekend, Hutch!_

He sighed deeply, his thoughts turning once again back to his partner. Starsky sensed more than knew that Hutch was somewhere close by watching, waiting and hopefully thinking up a plan. He inwardly snickered at the thought, his mind easily picturing the tiny wheels spinning about in his blond counterpart.

Where Starsky's nature tended to lean towards quick assessments followed by an immediate action, an inherited trait bred into him from his experiences in Nam where all hell could break loose at the pause of a breath and the slightest hesitation could make you dead really fast, his partner's nature was more analytical, calmer as he processed a situation then worked out an effective strategy.

In their partnership it wasn't unusual for Starsky to often defer the question to Hutch, _"What'ya wanna do?"_

It wasn't that he didn't think he was any the less capable of making a decision, it was just that he trusted and valued Hutch's opinions and insights, the same way Hutch trusted Starsky's instincts. Often the two detectives came at a case from opposing ends, but worked together like a well oiled hinge, so well, often times very little verbal communication was needed between the two of them as they worked a situation out.

So even if separated, Starsky knew two things for sure. He knew Hutch was nearby, and knew his worried partner was busy working out a plan.

So right now, his job, Starsky thought, was to do his best to keep the bikers from trying to harm any more innocent people. He shifted, wincing again as his sore ribs protested. He just hoped he could manage to do it though without adding any more bruises to his already aching body, he mused sorely.

Propping his back against the wall and at the moment being apparently ignored, Starsky let his hooded gaze wonder about the room, trying to make his own quick assessment. Three bikers had been left to stand guard, two near the lobby, one near the kitchen. The rest, for the moment, had disappeared, either out into the lobby beyond his visual range, or outside.

Lonnie and the other biker, Sully, had also disappeared.

Starsky's thoughts turned to the angry young biker. He didn't like the wild glitter of hate he'd seen in the kid's eyes. He'd seen that look too many times before, from too many perps, that twisted pent up hate solely focused on revenge. It made him think too close home, to Terry, to Prudholm…

He inwardly shuddered.

Prudholm. The mere thought of the ex-con still left Starsky with so much bitterness, so much hate inside. It was still hard to let all that go, knowing all the man had done to him and to the innocent families he had destroyed in his insane need for revenge.

The ex-con had blamed Starsky for the death of his son, stabled to death in County Lockup, soon after he and Hutch had busted the kid for dope dealing. Afterwards, Prudholm had made it his personal obsession to see Starsky pay.

His hate, his twisted need for revenge had left three cops Starsky hadn't even known dead while Prudholm had played out his sick little game. Three cops who left behind families, wives and kids, mothers and fathers.

It had been a hard bitter pill for Starsky to swallow especially when a few of his fellow officers had verbally lashed out at him, trying to place the blame for the deaths of their comrades squarely on Starsky's shoulders. Hutch had immediately come to Starsky's defense, ready to deck one officer right on the spot for even making the suggestion and made it clear he wasn't about to accept any talk like that from anyone against his partner. Starsky had appreciated Hutch coming to his defense, but the damage had been done and the guilt had eaten away at him until they had finally caught Prudholm.

But it had been nothing compared to the pain of loosing Terry after Prudholm had been let out of the mental institution he'd been sentenced to a few years later on of all things a damn clerical error.

By then that man's insanity was solely aimed at bringing as much pain as he could to Starsky and he'd almost won in the end. He had almost killed Hutch, he had killed Terry and Starsky had _almos_t given into that hate, to the need for revenge himself, but in the end, he couldn't do it, not in cold blood, not even for someone as sick and vile as the crazed ex-con.

But it still hurt. Every damn day it still hurt knowing Terry had paid the price simply for loving him.

_God, Terry. I'm sorry, so sorry. You didn't deserve it. It should have been me, honey, not you, _Starsky thought sadly, not for the first time.

The image of her smiling face looking up at him flashed through his mind renewing his grief but movement out of the corner of his eye forced Starsky's thoughts suddenly away from Terry, away from Prudholm and back to his current situation as Python returned.

The tall lean biker in suede moved into the room with an air of complete authority.

His gaze locked briefly on Starsky before he dragged a chair into the center of the room and propped one booted foot on top of the seat.

"Now that all of you have had a little time to think, where were we?"

~S/H~

Hutch peered out through the slit in the shade to the street. It was still quiet. He let the shade down and moved back into the center of the room where Rosa stood, arms still hugging her waist.

For more than the hundredth time, he'd wished he had brought his magnum. Rarely did Hutch ever go anywhere without it. Sometimes Starsky would even tease him over it, saying he probably wouldn't even go visit his own mother without the chunk of iron strapped to his side. And for the most part, that was a pretty true statement. But Hutch had really wanted this trip to be just about fun for he and Starsky, to forget about the cesspool they worked in, knowing the Mexican police, even after getting the extradition papers on Martinez, wouldn't be ready to release the man back into U.S. custody for another week.

Hutch scanned the small room and then asked Rosa if she or the old man owned a gun.

Rosa shook her head in denial.

Hutch rubbed his forehead. The only other pistol then that he knew of was the Sargento's, locked away in the drawer at the jail.

From his observation, Hutch hadn't seen any of the other bikers carrying weapons, but that didn't necessary mean they weren't armed. So far just their numbers and looks had been intimidating enough to keep the townspeople in line and afraid.

With the phone lines down, Hutch needed to find some other way to get help. It was then he remembered something, something he had practically fallen into in his haste to escape the telephone office. It had been tucked away behind the building, partially hidden under a tarp.

"Rosa, who's motor bike is that behind the telephone office?"

The girl's eyes widened, as if startled by his question.


	9. Chapter 9

Ok...I know it's been a looooong time since I updated this story and all of you are sick of waiting, but here's the next chapter. I'm writing this kinda on the fly because I need to get it done, lol, so I hope I don't back my guys into a corner I can't get them out of, lol. It a short chapter, but at least it's moving forward. Anyway, as always, feedback appreciated.

**Chapter 9**

Hutch uncovered the motor bike partially hidden under a tarp in a lean-to shed behind the telephone office. Checking the bike over while keeping one eye out for the bikers still looking for him, he found the cycle to be in fairly good shape. He then uncapped the fuel tank. He was in luck, it was partially full. There were no keys though, so he'd have to hot wire it.

Working quickly, he retrieved a few tools he'd borrowed from Rosa out of his back pocket and selected the necessary wires. As he worked the sudden memory of Starsky showing him this little trick flashed through his mind. It had been back in their Academy days, when Vanessa, his then wife, had created a scene in a restaurant. Hutch had attempted to pull her outside to try and calm her down and discuss the matter more privately. Vanessa wanted none of it though, and in a fit of spite, she had snatched his car keys out of his hand and tossed them into the marina before storming off.

Stranded at the restaurant and still fuming over Vanessa's extravagant spending habits and the fact she had once again gone over his head and borrowed money from his father, Hutch had reached his boiling point.

Starsky, who had happened to be driving by at the time, had seen his fellow Academy cadet standing on the sidewalk cussing at, of all things, the parking meter. The expired tag had just flipped up and when Hutch realized he didn't have any change it was the last straw. He proceeded to pound his fist into said meter screaming obscenities at it which alerted the attention of the meter maid just down the street. The woman strode purposely towards him, ticket book in hand and within seconds she and Hutch were in a verbal confrontation over destruction of public property.

Perhaps Starsky had felt sorry for Hutch that day and didn't want to see a fellow cadet get in trouble, or perhaps it had just been his natural curiosity that made him flip a u-turn and pull up next to Hutch's car. Either way, it was Starsky who quickly intervened, defusing the situation with remarkable ease. Within minutes he had somehow smoothed out the rather irate meter maid with his charismatic boyish charm and in the end had even managed to get her phone number and a date but only after solemnly promising his friend would promptly move his car and not destroy any more parking meters. Hutch had been let off with a stern warning and the threat that his car better be gone by the time she came back on her rounds or it would be towed.

Afterwards Hutch stood feeling more than a bit foolish at the scene he'd created, and quickly tried to reel his emotions back in, not used to anyone ever coming to his aid before.

Starsky then asked if there was anything else he could do to help him when Hutch just continued to stand awkwardly there in the middle of the street staring at his car. With some embarrassment he mumbled out his predicament then became stone faced once more when Starsky's mouth widened into an amused grin.

He remembered saying something rather harsh. Starsky had taken no offense though and instead offered to get his car started and even take him over to see a friend of his uncle's to get another set of keys made up.

At the time neither cadet had known each other for more than a few weeks, both still adjusting to the demands at the Academy and the Minnesota blond still wasn't quite sure what he thought about the dark haired man dressed in a pair of frayed cut off jeans, a worn T-shirt cut off at mid-waist, blue Addidas sneakers and wearing a Yankees' baseball cap, who was rough around the edges and spoke his mind, but seemed to be friendly, with an overwhelming sense of humor and an endless pile of energy. It was the complete opposite to Hutch's shyer, more reserved nature.

But with little other options available and in need of his car, Hutch consented and then stood back and watched as Starsky crawled under the dashboard and deftly hot wired his car as if it were second nature. When Hutch asked where he'd learned to do that, Starsky had simply shrugged his shoulders and said it was a talent any decent New Yorker trudging through insect invested jungles should know how to do.

The motor cycle suddenly sputtered to life.

Hutch knew the roar of the engine would soon alert the biker gang, so he wasted no time and hopped on the bike, stepping down on throttle. The bike shot out from behind the building and down a back street where Rosa had told him earlier led to a small narrow dirt track trail that wound up and over the dry river wash before eventually dumping back onto the main dirt road. Unfortunately, when he reached the end of the street where he needed to turn, he found the way blocked by several junked cars.

Hutch skidded to a stop, the back wheel spinning and shooting a cloud of dust up in the air. Quickly turning around, he headed back the way he'd come and sought out a narrow passage between two out buildings emerging just off the end of the main road heading out of town. Gunning the engine, Hutch made his way around the bend, but his luck abruptly ran out when he was spotted by two lone bikers posted near the edge of town lounging under a shade tree just as Hutch veered off the main road and onto the narrow bike trail. Quickly they sprang from their positions and starting running towards their bikes parked several yards away.

Hutch gripped the handle bars tighter and leaned forward in the seat, gunning his engine as he made a break for it. The narrow trail, little wider than a foot, snaked the hilly backcountry covered in tall wheat colored grass and thatches of sage and scrub trees. Hutch hit the top of one of the hills and momentarily became airborne and nearly lost control of the bike as it come back down on an uneven patch of dirt.

The sound of his own engine was almost deafening, but didn't completely drone out the distant roar of engines behind him in hot pursuit. The dirt trail straightened momentarily and Hutch risked a glance behind him to see the two bikers hot on his tail.

Ahead the path wound around a grove of scrub tress and thick brush. Hutch took advantage of the momentary cover and halfway around veered off the trail and down into a small arroyo formed by a dry creek bed. He was forced to slow his speed considerably as he maneuvered the bike through the uneven channel filled with gravel and rocks. His injured leg protested to the constant jarring it took to keep the bike upright, but Hutch gritted his teeth against the pain and pressed forward as he heard the distant sound of engines growing louder.

As he neared the other end of the arroyo he found the sides of the channel becoming steeper and fearing he would soon be boxed in, sought an avenue of escape. To his right he spotted an opening. It was a long steep incline through a thicket of scrub brush, but it looked passable. Hutch gunned the engine and accelerated up the hill. Almost to the top, the front wheel suddenly hit a protruding rock pitching the bike upward at a dangerous angle as the back wheel slid into a rut.

The next thing Hutch knew he was falling backwards, bike and rider separating as the bike flipped completely over his head. His body bounced against the hard dirt before being tossed like a rag doll into the dense scrub brush where he landed, unmoving. The bike continued its descent down the incline, flipping over like a coin until it landed in a dented heap on its side at the bottom of the arroyo.

~S/H~

The two bikers had lost sight of the blond cop around the wide crescent shape bend and didn't see him again further down the trail when they emerged on the other side. They could still hear the single engine, but it was muffled, bouncing off the hilly terrain.

"Where the hell did he go?"

"He can't have gotten far. Let's backtrack."

The two pursuers turned around, soon separating, one returning the way they had come and veering off onto a secondary trail, the other following a dry creek bed down into the arroyo.

The biker following the creek bed cursed and sputtered as he attempted to maneuver his chopper through the rough terrain. After a few minutes, he slowed and sat idling his engine and listened but he couldn't hear the sound of the other bike anymore. He ventured forward a little more and was just about to turn around when something metallic reflecting back caught his attention.

The biker found the other cycle lying on its side in the middle of the dry creek bed. Dismounting, he reached into his back pocket and retrieved a switchblade knife, flipping it open grinning. But after fifteen minutes of making a search of the area covered in thick brush, the grin turned into a frustrated frown when his search came up empty handed.

Disgruntled, he got back on his bike and headed back to report his findings unaware that less than twenty feet away, up the incline, Hutch lay motionless entangled and concealed in the thick brush.

~S/H~

"What the hell do you mean he got away?" Python snapped.

"It's like I said. I found the bike, but the cop was no where. But even it he did get away, he ain't gonna get far on foot. There's nothing for twenty miles up in those hills except for a bunch of rattlers." The biker, who's name was Salty, then pulled Python aside, away from the other bikers in the room and Lonnie in particular who was milling about in the lobby.

"There's one more thing you should know. The bike the cop was riding. It was Jessie's."

Python's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?"

Salty nodded.

Python's eyes shifted to the curly haired cop still sitting on the floor.

TBC...


	10. Chapter 10

Sorry again for the long delay in posting the next chapter...

**Chapter 10**

Hutch opened his eyes then blinked several times as he tried to focus. At first he was confused and couldn't quite figure out what he was looking at until he realized he was staring up at the sky through a criss-cross mesh of broken branches. Lifting his head, he groaned from the pounding throb in his head and a strange heaviness weighing him down. It was then he realized it was because his body was angled downward and all the blood had rushed to his head.

Memory suddenly came rushing back.

He'd been on the motorcycle, trying to get up the hill when the bike had flipped over and Hutch had fallen backward down the slope.

Again he tried to move but found both his arms and legs entangled in the thicket. With his body pitched downward on the slope it made difficult to sit up, let alone stand. After several frustrating attempts he ended up rolling over and wiggling out from underneath the bushes on his stomach. Leaves and sticks poked out of his hair in all directions.

Hutch rolled onto his back then winced as something sharp poked him in the side. Disgruntled, he reached back, wincing as his back muscles protested, and removed a twig imbedded in his shirt, staring at it with a sour look on his face.

Tossing the stick aside, he sank back in the dirt, spent. The sun glared down into his eyes and he closed them tightly. For a few minutes he simply lay there too exhausted and sore to move.

Around him an eerie silence prevailed, and it was then Hutch realized the reason. There was no roar of engines or shouts of men in pursuit, nothing except for the soft rustling of leaves as a gentle warm breeze passed through the trees.

Sitting slowly back up, Hutch wondered how long he'd been out. Not long he hoped.

A fly buzzed about his face before it landed on his arm. Unconsciously he swatted it aside. Immediately he felt a stinging, burning sensation racing up and down his arm. Glancing down, he saw both his forearms covered in scratches and congealed blood mixed with dirt. A similar stinging sensation was coming off his left cheek and he guessed he had a few more scratches there too.

Looking around, he guessed his pursuers must have either lost him or given up, for now at least. But he knew he couldn't just sit here either so he started to make his way back down the slope. As soon as he tried to stand though, he let out a hiss and dropped back on his rear as a burning pain shot up his leg.

Lifting his pant leg, he looked at bandage still wrapped around his shin and grimaced. It was still intact but with a new crimson stain spreading out from the dressing, along with what he felt were a few more bruises on both legs.

Tenderly he felt around his left leg and then wiggled his toes. Slowly he bent his knee, then rotated his ankle. Though everything throbbed like the dickens, he didn't think he'd broken anything. The landing in the bushes, he guessed, had more or less cushioned the impact to what might have been a serious tumble.

The slope was steep so he ended up sliding more or less down the incline on his posterior until he reached the bottom, and then cautiously stood. Though sore and considerably stiff, to his relief he was able to put weight on his left leg.

Glancing around, some ten feet away, Hutch caught the glistening of sunlight bouncing of a metallic surface. It was the motorcycle lying in on its side. He hobbled over to it and knelt down, frowning. The front wheel was bent and it looked like the oil line was snapped. Hutch could also smell the odor of gas leaking out. He clenched his fist.

_Damn!_

Frustrated, he awkwardly stood back up and then wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand as he stared at the wrecked bike. "Fine mess you got yourself in now Hutchinson," he muttered.

Rubbing his temple with the tips of his fingers, he looked around the dry creek bed that was somewhat shaded by the trees banking up on either side of the sloping channel.

With the bike damaged, Hutch had few options left and with a long sigh started walking.

A half hour later he'd managed to crawl out of the ravine but found by the time he reached the top he could barely stand to put any weight on his left leg.

Hobbling over to group of rocks, he sat down, panting from the exertion, his body covered in sweat and dirt. Streams of perspiration ran off his face and he wiped them away with the front on his shirt.

His lips were dry and cracked, his throat parched and he longed for a swig of water.

Looking around to try and get his bearings, to Hutch's utter surprise he spotted a rounded face peering out at him from behind a tree. It was a boy, wearing a straw hat.

As soon as the boy realized he'd been spotted though, he quickly darted away.

"Wait, wait!" Hutch shouted chasing after him, cursing when he was forced to half hop, half hobble.

The boy ducked behind a small stand of trees. When Hutch reached the spot the boy had disappeared into, he found no trace of him though and for a brief second thought he might have imagined the whole thing in the heat. That was until he heard the snap of a twig behind him.

Hutch spun about and saw the boy dart out from a crouched position behind some brush and run towards a group of boulders and started to climb.

Hutch chased after him. "Wait, please! I'm not going to hurt you!"

Halfway up the boy's foot slipped he fell back down to the ground. The boy rolled onto to his back and scooted backwards until he was pressed up against the rocks. His eyes were wide and frightened as he looked up at the stranger now towering over him.

Hutch held his hands out in front of him, trying to calm him. "Take it easy, kid. I'm not going to hurt you."

The boy tried to scoot off to one side. Hutch blocked his way.

"No please, don't run. I need your help," Hutch said desperately, panting.

The boy shook his head. In Spanish he said. "No! Leave me alone, you are one of them!"

"Them?"

In broken English, the boy replied. "The men that come, take mia madre, mia padre, take everyone away!"

"The bikers you mean?"

The boy nodded.

"I'm not one of them. Believe me. I was actually trying to get away from them."

The boy looked at the stranger warily, his eyes once again seeking an avenue of escape.

Hutch dropped his voice low, gentle. "Please don't run away, just give me a chance to explain."

The boy continued to stare back like a frightened rabbit still ready to bolt.

"Look, my name is Hutch. What's yours kid?"

The youth hesitated, not sure if he wanted to answer the stranger. But the tall blonde man didn't look like the others that had forced his mother and father from their house or the two bikers he'd spotted riding back towards town. He hesitated a moment longer before bravely answering.

"Pablo."

Hutch smiled. "Pablo. Believe it or not, I'm a police officer from the States."

The boy frowned. "Policia?"

Hutch nodded. "That's right. And right about now, Pablo, I could _sure_ use your help."

The boy remained indecisive. Hutch kept his body language as non-threatening as possible.

Finally, the boy stood up, brushing the dirt from his worn pants. He glanced once more around before hesitantly stepping forward. "I am sorry, senor. I-I thought you were one of them."

Hutch limped closer. "It's okay, Pablo. If I were in your shoes, I'd have thought the same thing."

The boy looked at Hutch's leg and the scratches all over his arms. "You are hurt, senor?"

"A little, but I'll be okay."

Off in the distance the roar of motorcycles echoed through the hillside. The sound seemed to galvanize the boy into action. "Come, we must go. It is not safe here."

The boy quickly motioned for Hutch to follow as he darted away. He hobbled off after him as fast as he could.

Luckily they didn't have far to go.

Pablo led Hutch up a small hillside and behind some scrub trees. To Hutch's surprise, concealed from view was a small opening.

"What's this?" Hutch asked.

"The entrance to an old copper mine. Come."

The boy ducked inside. Hutch hesitated though, as he examined the old mine entrance with a bit of trepidation. He'd heard this part of Mexico was dotted with old mines, most long since abandoned and considered dangerous and structurally unsafe.

About to voice his opinion, Pablo's head popped back outside stopping him. "Come…it is safe inside."

Reluctantly he bent down and crawled through the opening. Once inside, he found he had to remain stooped over a bit as the ceiling was lower than his full height. He watched as Pablo lit a kerosene lamp and then motioned Hutch to follow. The boy led him a little further down the tunnel before stopping and motioning Hutch to sit down.

Hutch looked around and found to his surprise, the cave was crammed full of stuff, everything from primitively made tables and chairs made out of crate boxes to a childish collection of used oddities scattered about. For some reason, it made him immediately think of his partner.

Pablo smiled. "You like?"

"What is this place?"

"My friends and I we come here and hang out sometimes," Pablo explained. "It is our secret place."

Hutch picked up a crudely carved wooden horse, sitting next to an old bicycle tire, a stack on comic books and tin can full of odd little trinkets and couldn't help but smile. That's exactly what it was, a child's secret hideout.

It suddenly brought back a long forgotten memory from his own childhood spent on his grandfather's farm during the summers. He and some local friends had their own special place too, a place where he could just hang out and do stupid, carefree things, things he was never allowed to do back home in Duluth under parent's strict lifestyle. Hutch had always treasured those summers which abruptly had come to an end when the senior Hutchinson had decided it was high time his son stop wasting his summers in foolish idleness and stepped up his campaign to try and mold him into what he thought was right and proper.

A few short years after that, Hutch's grandfather, the only one who seemed to ever understand the young Hutchinson, had passed away.

Hutch replaced the carving. "This is quite a place."

Pablo smiled again. "You sit." He gestured to an upturned crate.

Hutch eased himself down, grateful to rest his leg. He licked his dry lips again, his throat still parched. A few seconds later, Pablo produced a plastic half gallon jug. "Here, drink."

Hutch took the jug gratefully. The water was warm and a little stale tasting but went a long way to relieving his thirst. After several gulps he handed it back to the boy.

"Thanks."

The boy smiled back. He then took an old beat up shallow pan and added more water to it. He then pointed to the scratches on Hutch's arm.

"You should clean."

"Yeah. Uh, thanks."

Carefully, Hutch rinsed the dirt and congealed blood off his arms and face. Pablo hunted around and found a used shirt for Hutch to pat himself dry. Once finished, Hutch again drank some more water until his thirst was quenched.

Pablo then took the lid off a covered container.

"You hungry, senor?" He offered Hutch some corn tortillas.

Hutch shook his head. The boy shrugged, took one for himself and sat down on one of the crates. He tore a piece off the tortilla and shoved it into his mouth.

Hutch scrutinized the boy curiously. He looked no more than ten or eleven.

Curiously, he asked. "Pablo, why weren't you taken into town with the rest of your people?"

Pablo smiled "When the bad men come to take mia madre, mia padre away, I hide, then run away very fast, come here. They no find Pablo here." The boy's smile faded; fear once more lacing the youth's dark eyes. "I try to go to town to get help, but see the bad men there with the Sargento, pushing him around, laughing and I get scared. I come back here. Me no not what to do."

"And you've been hiding our here ever since?"

"Si." Pablo then asked. "You say you try and get away from those men?"

"That's right. It's a bit of a long story but basically my partner and I were on a dirt bike vacation and sorta stumbled into your little town. When we discovered what was going on, I tried to escape and go for help, but crashed my bike back down in that ravine."

"And your friend, where is he?"

"I'm afraid he's still back in town. We got separated and they caught him."

Hutch explained how they had first tried to see if they could call for help by sneaking into the telephone office and how they were separated when his partner tried to distract the bikers, then about finding the bike and trying to escape and go for help.

Pablo listened and shook his head. "They are very bad men, senor."

"I'm afraid you're right there. That's why I need to get help as fast as I can." Hutch then asked how far away the next town was and wasn't surprised when Pablo told him San Carlos.

"The only thing closer is the _Vaquero_, a small ranch, but it is still over ten kilometers away, too far for you to walk, I think."

Hutch then asked how far away Pablo lived, and if his folks had a car or some means of transportation.

The boy shook his head. "Only, Chico."

"Chico?"

"Si, our _burro_," Pablo replied. "But he is very stubborn and does not like many to ride him."

"He may be our only hope."

Pablo shook his head. "It is no use. The rancho is to the East, on the other side of our town. Those men have all the roads blocked. You would be caught before you got very far."

Hutch ran his fingers through his hair, again frustrated.

A heavy silence followed. Pablo then asked. "Senor, those men, why they come, what do they want? Why they take mia madre, mia padre, everyone else into town?"

"I'm afraid they are looking for the person responsible for murdering two of their friends."

The boy looked up startled. "You mean the man and the woman found dead?"

"You know about that?"

"Si. Everyone knows. We are a small village. The Padre said it was a terrible thing to see so much death in so short a time. He prayed to the Virgin Mary for forgiveness for many days."

Hutch frowned._ Forgiveness?_

"Pablo, can you tell me what you know about that night?"

"Why?"

"Because I want to understand the situation more. If I can figure it out, maybe I can help your village."

The boy bit his lip and to Hutch's keen eye thought the boy had almost a guilty look on his face.

Hutch leaned forward. "Pablo, if you know something, _anything_ about that night you need to tell me, understand? There's a lot of people in that town, including your mother and father and my friend who are in a lot of danger right now."

The boys eyes started to fill with tears.

"I was not supposed to hear. I was just sweeping up. He did not want to lie to the Sargento."

"Lie?" Hutch frowned. "Who did not want to lie?"

Pablo looked away.

"Please, Pablo, just tell me. I need the truth."

The young boy looked up.

"The Padre…about Senor Calderon."

~S/H~

In San Carlos, the Sargeant had just finished completing his report to his superior, Captain Durango.

"What have you found out so far?" Captain Durango asked, still irked that he'd been pulled in on his day off at the request of none other than Judge Juarez to personally look into the matter of the two missing American police officers.

"No one has seen them," the Sargeant grumbled. "We are wasting our time on these Americans. They are probably just having too much fun and forgot the time. Judge Juarez and this, Captain Dobey, are making a big deal out of nothing."

"That may be so, Sargento, but I'm not about to stir up any _more_ trouble with Judge Juarez. He's still fuming over the Santos case, remember?"

The Sargeant sighed and rolled his eyes. "Si. Don't _remind_ me."

Captain Durango consulted the map laid out on the desk.

"Have you check with the local authorities in the all the towns between the border and here?"

"Si, all except this one," the Sargeant replied pointing to a small speck on the map. "Tranquillidad."

Durango looked down at the small dot. "Why not?"

The Sargeant shrugged. "We haven't been able to get through. The phone lines must be down again. It is not unusual. It is a no more than a small rural village in the middle of nowhere using a very old system. I already placed a call to have the lines checked out but it will be a several hours before we hear anything."

"Very good. Let me know when you get through," Captain Durango said curtly before disappearing into his office.

~S/H~

Calderon stood in the kitchen clenching his fists tightly, his whole body twitching nervously. He ran his hand down his long drawn face before letting it rest over his quivering lips. He was a nervous wreck made worse by the continual scrutiny of the bikers. With his nerves frayed, he had finally sought refuge in the kitchen under the pretense of clearing dirty dishes off one of the tables.

Shoving his hand into his pocket, his right fist closed around the single metal key that seemed to burn in his hand.

He looked cautiously through the divider that separated the kitchen area from the main dining room. The villagers were still gathered inside. Across the room he could see his wife, his son and daughter all huddled together.

The dark haired police officer had been moved off the floor and now sat in a chair, nursing a split lip while Python stood over him.

Starsky had been doing his best to distract the bikers from abusing the villagers, but it wasn't easy and his face seemed to be getting the worst of it.

"No more games, Detective. I want to know how your partner got a hold of Jessie's bike?" Python demanded.

This news startled Starsky, but he did his best to mask it. With eyes hooded, he said. "You'll have ta ask him. I have no idea."

Starsky's reply was met with another backhanded slap from the biker standing next to him nearly unseating the dark haired man from the chair. He was jerked back upright by a hand yanking his hair.

"Oh, don't worry, Detective. I plan to do just that as soon as we find him," Python replied, menacingly. "He won't get far. Not on foot in this heat."

Python turned to the Padre who glared angrily back. "We're not leaving, holy man, until we get answers."

"Why do you persist in accusing us?" The Padre vehemently replied. "I keep telling you we had nothing to do with your friends' unfortunate deaths. We only _found_ the bodies in the cemetery and did the only Christian thing we could, buried them and prayed for their souls. The cemetery is at the end of town. They could have been placed there by anyone driving past in the middle of the night."

Lonnie, standing next to Python, spat back. "They're lying, Python! Can't you fucking see that! Jessie and his girl _rode_ into town. They weren't just _dumped_ in that cemetery by someone passing by. Someone put them there and tried to cover up what they did!"

Several bikers angrily grunted in agreement.

"I say we just burn this whole stinking town down _now_, Python, show them we mean business," another biker said. Several bikers nodded, their voices adding to the commotion and the growing tension in the room.

Starsky watched with growing trepidation. The bikers were getting increasingly volatile.

One biker grabbed a bottle of whisky from beneath the bar and shattered it, spreading the alcohol across the counter. "Let's start right here, Python. See how brave they are then!"

Python crossed the room and shoved the biker to one side. He then turned to the rest of his men.

"Enough of this!" Python snapped. "I'm still calling the shots here and don't all of you forget it!" He turned back to the Padre, his voice once more controlled, icy. "What _about_ the bike, Padre? Care to explain?"

Several eyes fell on the Padre who shrugged nervously. "I-it was found a few days later, hidden a ditch a few miles outside of town. We do not know how it got there."

Starsky inwardly frowned at the Padre's answer.

Python's eyes narrowed. He slowly walked about the room.

Starsky watched him from beneath hooded eyes trying to gauge the man.

Python stopped his pacing and stood still in thought.

A few seconds later two other bikers entered the room. One placed a squirrel gun and a small caliber pistol on the counter. "That's all we could find so far."

"You checked every house, building?"

The biker nodded. "Even searched the church. Nothing, except for these two pieces of crap and I bet both couldn't hit the side of a barn."

"Keep looking."

The biker nodded.

"You will not find anything here, senor." the Padre said. "Please. We are a quiet, peaceful town full of old men, women, and children. We are sorry about your friend's deaths but you cannot, in all conscience, hold an entire town responsible for their tragedy."

"We're only looking for the one responsible, Padre. And we ain't leaving until we find out just that."

Python paced about the room again. Over the last hour he had questioned several of the villagers and had yet to get a satisfying answer. He glanced around the room again, as if realizing something.

"The telephone girl, where is she?"

"She's still with the old man," another biker replied.

"Calderon!"

In the kitchen, Calderon had just dawned his coat and had been inching towards the back door. At the sound of his name being called out, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Quickly he took his jacket back off, replaced in on the hook and emerged from the kitchen.

"Yes…w-what is it?" he stammered.

"The crazy old man. Where does he live?"

"J-just down at the end of the street, on the other side of the church."

Python looked at Starsky. "You. Go get her. Bring her back. She's been there long enough."

Starsky rose slowly from his seated position trying his best not to wince from his bruised ribs. "Why me?"

"Because my offer still stands, Detective."

"What offer?" Lonnie demanded.

Python ignored the younger man, keeping his eyes focused on Starsky. "You see how things are Detective. It's only going to get worse. Go get the girl, bring her back here with the rest of them. I have some questions for her too."

Starsky eyes traveled around the room, seeing the frightened looks of the villagers and the tense, agitated stance of the bikers, a hair trigger away from violence. He nodded and slowly started walking towards the door.

"And Detective, don't even think about trying to run away again." Python warned.

Out of the corner of his eye, Starsky saw Lonnie flick his switch blade knife open and held it to the Padre's throat, a twisted smile crossing his face as if to say…_Go ahead, pig, just try._

Starsky tried his best to control his mounting anger as he met Python's unwavering determination. But both men knew Starsky wouldn't risk igniting the bikers' short fuse at that moment.

Slowly he made his way out of the hotel, aware of Lonnie's satisfied look.

"You two, keep an eye on him," Python said to a couple of his men. "Make sure he doesn't get any wild ideas." The two nodded and followed the cop outside.

Starsky crossed the dirt courtyard and slowly made his way down the street, aware of the two-man escort now trailing him a short distance behind, watching his every step.

He passed the church and an alley, and found a small house located just on the other side attached to a larger building. It had a little wooden porch which sagged slightly on one end.

He paused with his hand on the support post and one foot on the porch, glancing back at the men following him, then winced as something pricked his thumb. He looked back to see what had poked him and found that part of the support post had a large gouge mark in it with a piece of splintered wood sticking out. Absently he sucked on his thumb then shook his hand out before stepping up onto the porch, aware of the snickers of the two men following him.

He knocked on the door.

A few minutes later the door opened a crack and the girl who ran the telephone office stood before him with a look of surprise.

"What do you want?"

Starsky jerked his head back slightly. "They want you back at the hotel."

Rosa shook her head. "No. I won't go."

She started to close the door on him, but Starsky put his hand up, barring her.

"They ain't asking."

She glanced up at him, imploring. "But he's sick. He needs me. I can't leave him."

"I'm sorry," Starsky said sincerely.

The young woman glanced back over her shoulder, before reluctantly opening the door. "Come in…I…I just need a minute."

Starsky nodded and stepped inside. The two bikers moved closer so they were only a few feet from the porch.

"No! I will not have them inside!" Rosa said fiercely. "I won't have them upsetting him."

"Give us a minute," Starsky said to the bikers. "What's it gonna hurt?"

"Make it quick. And don't forget, pig. We're watching you."

Starsky glanced briefly back before stepping inside.

Immediately Rosa shut the door and sagged against it. "What do they want with me? Why can't they just leave us alone!"

She hugged her arms to her sides, glancing at the closed door across the room.

"The old man, how is he?" Starsky asked.

"He is asleep now." She looked at the dark haired cop, noticing for the first time the bruises on his face. "I'm sorry. I never thanked you for helping him. They hurt you much?"

"S'okay. I've got a tough hide. Right now, I'm more worried about my partner and all those people over at the hotel."

"Funny. He said the same thing about you."

Starsky's brow rose in surprise. "You mean, Hutch? He was here?"

Rosa nodded. "He went for help."

"I'm afraid he didn't get far."

"Oh, no! Is he okay?"

"Wish I knew. They found the bike wrecked, but no Hutch."

"I knew it was too dangerous to try! I tried to talk him out of it!"

"I'm afraid you don't know my partner very well, mame. Hutch is not one to give up so easily. Neither am I."

Rosa rubbed her upper arms with her crossed hands. "Yes, I can see this."

"Hurry up in there!"

"We better go."

"I…just let me check on Pape, make sure he's still asleep."

Starsky nodded.

The girl disappeared into the back bedroom.

Starsky waited and as he did found himself staring at something above the couch. It was a wooden holding rack about four feet long. He walked over and examined it. Faintly he could see the change in the stain of the wood from where a gun had once rested.

Rosa came out of the room wearing a black crochet shawl. She looked up a bit startled when she saw Starsky's hand resting on the gun rack. Her face seemed to pale.

"Rosa, where's the gun?"

TBC...


End file.
